


Dragon's Blood

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 46,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ser Charles Xavier is ward of his beloved father, Durwyn Darkholme, and a knight whose allegiance is sworn to his King and Kingdom. The day his broadsword meets the neck of the dragon, and he becomes The Dragonslayer. Ser Charles gains the attention of King Erik, the ruling monarch of Lehnshire. They embark on a passionate love affair - but when King Erik marries Raven Darkholme, Charles' adopted sister, who loves Charles as more than a brother, everything becomes more complicated. No one will be the same and the ramifications will last a lifetime. Everyone is torn between love and loyalty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for X-Men Reverse Big Bang. 
> 
> So many thanks to **Arisu** , who provided art that truly challenged and inspired me. It's gorgeous and I'm thrilled to be able to bring it alive in any way. 
> 
> Thanks to **Afrocurl** for the beta and the lovely chats it involved, aka Sophia nattering away. And thanks to **lapetityoyo** for holding my hand so I didn't just use MCD as a way out. 
> 
> Ah, what to say about this monster - I hope it strikes a chord. I've never written in first person before. I've never done a medieval/fantasy setting. I did more world building than I'm used to. There were many time when I just wanted to obliterate everyone with the dragon (danger of using a dragon's in one story, becomes an easy plot escape). In the end this ranks up with my favorites stories I've ever written, which is why I owe so much to Arisu for bringing it to me.

 

Some say I am blessed, touched by the gods. Some say it is fate. I mostly call it luck. All I know is that it could have been any other man on that fated day. I just happened to be the one whose broadsword met the jugular of the great she-beast, slicing through scales and flesh, finding that great artery in her thrashing neck - larger than a man’s arm they will tell me later - and I am the one who blinked as her blood came rushing out in a great shower, covering me in stinking, red stickiness. I am no one special. I just happened to find the right angle, the right amount of thrust and strength to bring down the magnificent beast who just wanted to protect her young.

I am Charles. My exact title is Ser Charles Xavier, ward of Durwyn Darkholme, knight of the Kingdom of Lehnshire. It is just before my twenty second winter on this earth that I slayed the dragon, the event that will change my life. Until then, I was just another knight in the army of the King, and a sometimes reluctant one at that. I did not want glory. I was nobody of notice. I still am nobody. At least to myself. Just another knight, another warrior skilled at the fight, but to the rest of the world I have become the Dragonslayer.

They take me to the King that day, the blood of the she-beast drying into a sticky film on my chain mail and I cannot get her smell out of my nostrils. All I want is to go back to my chambers, and the only reward I want for my efforts is a rare bath, with actual warm water, a chance to let my weary muscles soak in the heat until I cannot feel them anymore. I am such a fool for wanting such simple things because everyone around me cannot stop telling me of the riches and rewards that wait for me at that palace. These are all things that I care little for.

They take me to see the King.

King Erik, forever strong, son of Sebastian, King of the Kingdom of Lehnshire. He is called the Black King - like his father before him, and the color of the House of Lehnsherr is black, like deepest night or like death.

The Lehnsherrs have ruled my land for my lifetime, my father’s and his father’s as well. They have been unkind masters of the people, taking what they want, and King Sebastian’s dungeons were always full. As a boy Durwyn would tell me tales of neighbors and friends, people he knows, who were taken to the castle and survived. When they returned, they were never the same. Then there are the stories of those who never did return. Durwyn doesn’t talk about those people much. When I would ask about them his face would grow dark and he would tell me that a boy should not hear such things and move on to talking about what crops we would plant in the spring or how fat our sow had grown.

King Erik is rumored to be kinder than his father. His dungeons are not as full, but he is still a Lehnsherr and that means he will always be feared. Some say the crown weighs heavily on his head. Some say he is too concerned with earthly delights. No matter, his reign has stretched a third of my life and my entire knighthood. He is the only king I have ever served. He became king three winters before I took my vows of knighthood. I am sworn to fight for him - only him - and to die for him if need be. That is my role and this never strays far from my mind.

I am a warrior, and even though I have been to the palace on occasion - have stood at attention in the throne room with my regiment - it is not where I am comfortable. I would rather be back in my chamber, clean from my bath, surrounded by my books and my collections of plants I have gleaned from the woods around the castle. These are the things that I entertain myself with when I am not fighting for my kingdom. I would even prefer to be with my comrades, sitting at the inn down the street from our garrison in our plain brown civilian tunics and rough woolen hose, drinking the sweet honeyed mead that the innkeeper’s wife brews. Some claim her secret ingredient is a sprinkle of magic. I would rather be reliving the events of the day until the honeyed wine sloshes on the table and we are all unable to find our footing entirely well, knowing that we will fight another day, but tomorrow will not be it.

Instead my chainmail rattles as I walk down the dank corridors of the palace and everyone is watching me as I walk, whispering as I pass by.

_Dragonslayer._

_Riches._

_Honor._

I want so little of it.

The soreness is starting to settle into my muscles and my sword arm aches as I follow the page through the twists and turns of the mighty castle that sits on the hill. It is a place that I dreamed of seeing in my youth: the house of the Lehnsherrs who have ruled my country for generations now. It has been built over centuries, different rulers adding bits and pieces, leaving their legacy in the form of stone and mortar and death. No building in this land comes without being drenched in the sweat of the servants who cut the rocks into rough shapes and hauled them on their sinewy backs. They are crushed, they fall, and they starve, all in the name of their king’s glory.

King Erik is not like his father before him. King Sebastian was overly concerned with his legacy, glorifying himself as his people suffered. At least Erik is not yet like Sebastian. He has time to become more cruel, but so far there has been little suffering under his rule. I am grateful for this, and for some around me this has inspired their loyalty. They pray for the King’s health because they do not live by my same code. They give him their hearts. My heart does not belong to the King, only my vow belongs to him. Somehow I keep those two things separate. My heart lies in nature and the woods around me, in discovery and science. My knight’s vow has nothing to do with my heart and everything to do with the valor and faith I sworn to give my King and my land. I am sworn to the King until my death.

When I reach the throne room it is more cavernous than I remember. Maybe this is because the last time I was here I was just another face in my regiment, standing at attention as King Erik walked slowly down our ranks. I had barely managed to glance at him that time, my eyes shifting slightly towards him, although I knew that was uncalled for. As a knight my gaze must never drift. It must be as steadfast as my loyalty, but still, my eyes rebelled. A chance to see the King this close was something even I could not resist. It was futile. I was barely able to get a glance at his fine leather boots.

Now I stand alone. No one stands with me. No group of knights. Even the page who escorted me dissolves into the background when we reach the entrance to the throne room. I swallow and again wish that I had a chance to clean up. My hands hang at my side, my sword is caked with blackened, dried blood. I am humbled to be appearing in front of the King in this state.

The King is watching as I enter the chamber and stop in the middle of the room. Despite all my misgivings, I stand tall and strong, as I have been trained. I then fall onto one knee and submit myself to the cool gaze of his ice blue eyes. He sits in the throne, occupying it like it was made for him. For all I know, it was indeed made for him, forged from the precious metals of his kingdom, set with onyx - black for the Lehnsherrs - but knowing this king, probably not. He has never been known to make such grand gestures. I sink to one knee and submit myself like the trained knight I am. My gaze stays fixed on the floor, my eyes tracing the patterns of the flagstones, noting that one has a crack across it. Another a dark stain. I wonder about the origins. Blood? Did someone lose their life right here at some point in the past, right where I kneel as a hero?

“Ser Charles Xavier of the House Darkholme,” the King speaks, saying my name almost under his breath. I do not know what I expected. I have never been spoken to by him in this manner. It has always been inspections or ceremony, and I am surprised at the warmth of his voice. “Your respect has been noted. Please stand.”

I pull up to a stand, my chainmail feeling heavy and bulky, and now I can meet the King’s gaze. Now that my loyalty - my vow - has been acknowledged, I lift my eyes to him.

“You may approach,” the King says firmly. I walk, step by step, coming closer to the throne. He watches me and when I stand just before him, he rises off his throne and comes to stand directly before me, a gesture of his own respect.

“Your Majesty,” I manage to croak out and look away, because I am so surprised to find the King standing in front of me, I cannot really find words. I have never been this close to the Black King, or any King for that matter. Not once in my life, and now that he stands before me, I can see that he is everything the lords and ladies gossip about. He is tall and lean, taller even than the King the storytellers paint as they sit by the fire at the inn weaving tales of our monarch. He is strong and his carriage is such that his presence fills the throne room. In the brief glance I managed to absorb before turning my eyes away out of embarrassment, I can see that his arms are muscled and strong enough to wield a sword, that they probably do on a regular basis despite him having an army to do this fighting for him. His thighs are muscular from being on horseback. His jaw is sharp and without my bidding, my mind sends me an image of what it might look like tipped back in ecstasy. Oh gods. I swallow, beating back these thoughts. My mind is well-trained and it knows its place here, but my body betrays me, sending a tingle straight to my cock and I pray to the gods that bless me and my family that I am not blushing. King Erik. He is...

“Beautiful.”

Shock courses through my veins. Did I say that? Have my deepest thoughts betrayed me, bursting unbidden from my mouth? My eyes return to the King who is still staring at me.

“Dragonslayer,” the King whispers, his voice low and rumbling and only for my ears. I feel heat rising up my cheeks. What is happening? What have I gotten myself into? I once again long for that bath and my quarters and being just another knight in the King’s army, and that it had not been my broadsword that found the she-beast’s jugular. I do not want to be here, do not want those ice blue eyes scrutinizing me, those lips telling me that I am beautiful. Everything about this moment feels dangerous.

My breath hitches, threatening to expose me.

“Ser Charles Xavier of House Darkholme,” King Erik says loudly, his voice booming, and this time it is clear that his words are for everyone to hear, not just uttered for my ears alone. They echo off the walls of the hall. “The Lehnsherr family and the realm of Lehnshire owes you. The dragon burned our crops. She threatened our people. We will all eat this winter because of your bravery, because of your sword.”

I stand, frozen.

“You will become a member of my guard.”

I long for my quarters. I long for normalcy.

“You will have a place in my house.”

I cannot breathe.

“You will…”

The doors at the rear of the chamber fly open before the King can finish his sentence and a figure comes flying through.

“Charles!” a voice cries, clear and sweet, and all eyes, including mine move from the business at hand, which is mostly me, to the intruder who is panting, her eyes searching the room.

Lady Raven Darkholme. My sister. Free spirit. She skids to a halt as she realizes that she has ended up in the throne room and she quickly smooths her skirt with a long, slim hand, struggling for some degree of decorum, but I can see that she is wearing men's leggings underneath, the bottom of her gown is muddy and her long bow is slung over her shoulders. She looks around then attempts a sort of curtsy, and her blond hair is falling around her shoulders. I know Raven. She is my beloved sister, and I have been a ward of our father, since I was eleven years old when they took me in after my family was drowned by a high running river. Raven is not dressed for court. She and I share a love of nature. It is one of the many things we have in common. I imagine she was probably climbing a tree or mucking about in a stream, or taking the life of some poor woodland creature with her longbow, when someone gave her the news, and she came running to find me.

“I was in the woods,” Raven explains, and I allow myself a bit a smug smile as my sister confirms what I suspected. She flashes one of her charming smiles to the people in the throne room who are staring at her, some with shocked open mouths, some with sneers plastered on their lips, and I want to take my sword and threaten them all, tell them to turn their eyes away from my sister. They do not deserve her. No one does, “One of my ladies in waiting came to tell me. Is it true? Is the dragon dead?”

“He is indeed, m'Lady…” King Erik says, but Raven does not turn to look at him, is not impressed by the fact that she stands before the King. She is looking at me and only me.

"And Charles...you killed the beast?"

I cannot answer. We are not sitting in our home, a fire on the hearth, Raven stretched out on my lap as she prattles on about her day. We are in the throne room and the King is standing in front of me.

"Who is this, Ser Charles?" the Black King asks, his tone amused. My eyes return to the King to find him staring at my sister, his face entirely entranced, and I do not blame him. Raven is a beauty among beauties, made even more stunning by the fact that she is both wild and completely unaware of her charm.

“Lady Raven Darkholme,” I burst out without thinking, “Of House Darkholme. My sister.” The person I love the most in this world, I add silently. I immediately cast my eyes downward, ashamed of my impudence. I am not acting like a knight should; silent, honorable, strong. As always, Raven has a way of making me violate most rules I live by. She always has, whether it be dragging me to play in the woods when she knows I must finish my studies or convincing me to sneak away the plum pudding Mother had been saving for the yule then devouring it with me behind the stable, our sticky fingers evidence of our thievery.

Erik’s eyes return to me and I see him look back to Raven, then back to me. I remember his words, spoken so quietly, just for my ears.

Beautiful. Dragonslayer.

Now I see unmistakable lust, his eyes narrowing and lips parted. Lust for me. My mouth is dry. I long for a drink of water.

"Lady Raven," King Erik says, her name rolling sweetly off his tongue. “You will join us, won’t you?”

“Join you for what?” Raven asks, her eyes on me, and I know what she wants is to rush to me, to make sure I am okay, and now I dare lift my eyes to her again, trying to send her the message that I am indeed alright. No bones are broken. No flesh violated. The dragon has not hurt me as much as I have hurt her. My heart still beats, the dragon’s does no longer. The Black King continues to stare at Raven and does not notice that I have again swayed in my loyalty.

“The feast,” King Erik says, “to celebrate what your brother has done.”

I watch as a smile spreads across Raven’s face, but that is something I could have predicted. Raven is always thrilled for any sort of festive occasion and she laughs, the sound ringing like the most perfect bell ever created. I make myself stare downward, forcing myself not to look at the King nor my sister, afraid of what I might find in either of their eyes.

The killing of a dragon is no small thing. I never had thought it to be, but somehow I thought that once I had my audience with the King I would return to my quarters, to my studies, my examinations of the natural world. I am such a fool. I cannot even make it back to the garrison without people staring, whispering as I go. Dragonslayer. I do not want this mantle. I am just Ser Charles, a lowly knight of the realm, content to live my life in service to my King. I could die happily if I were allowed to live and die by my sword.

All I want is to wash the stench off, to scrub myself clean, and maybe settle to sleep on a fresh bed, but it appears that will not be my fate. When I arrive to my quarters the men of my garrison rise and applaud, and I bow my head as they chant ‘Dragonslayer’. I do not want to offend my brothers-in-arms, so I smile and accept their handshakes and slaps on the back. When I am finally able to make it to my quarters, only wanting to shut the door behind me, I find that I am still not alone. There is a copper kettle there full of steaming warm water, a luxury for someone who lives as I do, and beside it a servant, a young man who is still full of youth and vigor. My eyes travel up and down his body, and I feel my cock start that familiar tingle again. He could be mine to use, as many of the lords and ladies use the servants for their own pleasure, because I am, after all, the Dragonslayer, but I am still Charles and I do not want to use someone without their consent, so I will be happy to just enjoy his fair looks and maybe I will ask him to step out for a bit so I can imagine him as I slip my hand under the warm water of the bath and stroke myself until I gain that sweet relief that I so enjoy.

“I am Artair,” the youth says, looking at me from under a shock of blonde hair. “Sent by His Majesty to tend to your needs while getting ready for the feast. I am at your service, Dragonslayer.”

Dragonslayer. I wince at the term.

“Thank you Artair,” I say, finally able to start removing my stinking, sticky chain mail, and I gesture for Artair to assist me. His presence is indeed helpful. I wonder for a moment how the King knows that Artair is what I would enjoy, and then I realize that before I left the throne room, I had seen his dark head bent close to my sister, so perhaps Raven has told King Erik of my proclivities.

I blush again, thinking about what exactly the King may know of me.

I enjoy the company of men. My sister is one of the few that knows this. She had found me in flagrante the summer before I took my oath, stretched across some soft hay, the stable boy buried deep inside my ass. He had a glorious cock and I had spent a great deal of time hinting about, trying to get his attention, until I finally did. My eyes met hers as she watched him pound into me, and I remember how that day had been so hot, the sweat running down the back of my neck, the hay had tickling at my bare chest, strong hands gripping my hips and how much my cock had ached for release. Raven had not turned away. She had remained in the doorway, her mouth curled in a small smile and I had been surprised that her attention had done nothing to spoil the pleasure of a stable boy fucking me on a lazy summer day. I reached orgasm, whimpering, face buried into the hay, and Raven had watched the entire time. To this day the smell of hay on a summer day does a certain something to me.

Raven had never said anything to me about that day, but she had started to point out certain handsome lords, leaning on me as she whispered about how handsome so-and-so is, and what a delicious ass on that one. I finally confronted her, asked what she would do with the information she had gained and she just smiled and said all she wanted was her beloved brother to be happy. Once I knew I was safe, I liked that I was able to share my secret with one other person, and with the person I loved the most in the world.

Artair reeks of Raven’s influence, and I can imagine how delighted she must have been to suggest to the King that I might like the attentions of a male servant. Then I remember that hot whisper.

_Beautiful._

Dragonslayer.

I close my eyes and lean back into the warm water, and while it should be the handsome Artair I picture, instead I play those words over and over in my head, that voice whispering in a way that is meant for darkness and the pleasures of the flesh.

When I am done and Artair has dried me, he dresses me in clothes that arrived with him. He pulls a tunic of the finest linen over my head and carefully ties up the front. I pull on the woolen hose that are an unusual, rare sapphire blue, then comes the cloak, again blue, heavy on my shoulders, and finally I turn to Artair and fasten the cloak with a brooch that has the symbol of the House Darkholme and now will represent The Dragonslayer.

I could say that the feast is like none I have ever seen but that must be tempered by the fact that I have been to very few feasts in my lifetime. The Darkholme family does not host many grand celebrations, which might be why Raven and I are so close. From the time I came to live with her family until I entered the knighthood we had had mostly just each other and not a lot of other social distractions. Tonight there is music and dancing and tables heaped high with all kinds of food imaginable. The mead is flowing and I see cup after cup being tipped back as men grow more clumsy and women laugh louder and louder. I would not be surprised if some of them are fucking in the dark corners of the hall before the night is over.

I am seated next to King Erik with Raven on my other side. She is dressed in blue as well and together we are striking, my auburn hair next to her gold. The King offers me a cup of honeyed mead and I take it, but I do not drink much. Just a sip, enough for the flavor to bloom across my tongue, but no more. The King is jovial, passing cups of wine to everyone in his sight, but I have been watching and I never see him actually drink. The knight in me is impressed with a king who will not let his guard down even in the midst of celebration.

They have already written tales about me, although the sun has not yet risen once since I slayed the she-beast. At some point the whole hall quiets as the poets and musicians take to the floor to sing my praises. I would like to blush, to look away, because I am not the hero they sing about. I do not deserve even one rhyming couplet in my honor. Better they save their skills to glorify our King, the magnificent man who sits next to me, sprawled comfortably on the throne like he could be sitting in the common area of Darkholme house on a Winter’s evening enjoying tales around the hearth. I envy his comfort because I cannot relax, cannot enjoy the spectacle that is being presented in my honor.

“Try to enjoy the festivities, Ser Charles,” Erik says as a harpists wheels her instrument to the middle of the floor. He leans over to me and places one of his big, warm hands on my knee, a gesture of intimacy and friendship for the world to see, to tell everyone that Ser Charles Xavier of House Darkholme is now part of the King’s family. I feel my face burning because the touch is more than friendly to me. The King’s hand lingers, his thumb rubbing slightly back and forth on the fine woolen leggings, and I feel the burn of desire start to curl in my belly. I cannot relax with the King this close, leaning towards me, smelling of musk and, oh gods, of sex. I make my face an impassive mask. At least I hope I do, and I look at the King whose eyes glint mischievously. He knows, my mind screams, he knows what he is doing to me.

“I am just sorry that father couldn’t be here.” Raven says from my other side, her eyes briefly going to the King’s hand which lingers for just moment until he pulls it back and I barely suppress a shiver. The Darkholme estate is two days travel north on a fast horse. Neither Raven or myself have been back to our home in many winters. I live in the garrison and and Raven is under the tutelage of an crotchety half-deaf uncle of our father, which gives her a place at court so she might find a husband to marry. Raven does not take our father’s intent for her to marry seriously. She tells me one day when we have wandered for most of the day and have ended up in a meadow, her fair head on my lap, my fingers carding through her curls, that there is too much of the world to see, and anyway, she is only here because I am.

“I sent word to him,” the King says, leaning towards Raven now, forcing him to lean even closer to me, and warmth radiates off his body, “I hope to hear back from him soon.”

“How?” Raven laughs, and I am momentarily confused because my sister appears to have become some sort of creature I have never encountered before. She is leaning forward and her eyelids are fluttering, and she licks her lips as she gazes at the King, playing a dangerous game. “Magic?” she asks.

The Black King laughs, leaning back, as if Raven has said the most amusing thing, and I am jolted by the loss of contact with him.

“I have my ways, Lady Raven,” Erik says.

There is more dancing. I watch as my sister is escorted to the floor by King Erik, their heads bent together, dark and light. I sit in my place next to the throne watching all the merriment and feeling a bit out of place. Usually Raven is the one who saves me at events like this, sticking by my side, making snide remarks about the attendees for my entertainment, but tonight she is on the arm of the King and all eyes are on the ethereal Lady Raven. I once again long for my chambers, my bed. When King Erik and Raven return from dancing, laughing and breathless, I decide it is time for me to say goodnight.

“Your Majesty,” I start, and the King turns towards me, those ice blue eyes flashing, and again my breath hitches, “it is time for me to turn in. I have training in the morning. A band of vagabonds in the south must be captured and we leave in a few days. I will retire to the garrison…”

“Oh, Charles,” the King laughs, and my words fade away as he uses my familiar name. I like the way he says it. "Your home is here now. You may retire if you like but if you are to be my First Knight. Your place is here. With me.”

I blink, not quite sure what my King is saying. I will not return to my garrison? I will be First Knight? As my mind tries to make sense of what is happening, King Erik turns to Raven and takes her hand, placing a kiss on its back. I watch as my sister blushes, and I sympathize. Our King has an effect that cannot be measured except by how red he can turn one’s cheeks.

“Beautiful Lady Raven Darkholme, the rest of my dances for the evening belong to you, but you must excuse me. I need to escort your brother to his new chambers.”

I follow the King as he walks to the wall behind the throne which turns out to conceal a passage. He strides quickly down the corridor, his fine leather shoes soft on the flagstones and I have to run just a little to keep up with his long legs. He turns down one hallway then another, then glances back and laughs, which makes me think that my face must be entirely readable.

“You will get used to this rabbit maze, Charles.” The King says and I feel my gut clench again at his familiarity.

Finally King Erik arrives at a wooden door and opens it. He stands and gestures for me to enter. I walk in to find small living quarters. A sitting room and a bedroom. The room is lit by tallow candles, dripping onto the ledges they are perched on.

“Artair brought your things here. I hope you found him satisfactory.”

“He did a fine job of laying out my clothes and helping me take off my chain mail,” I reply, avoiding the other things the King might be asking whether or not I found satisfactory.

“And did he perform, ah, other tasks for you?” King Erik asks, his face a mass of shadows in the candlelight.

“I do not use servants in that manner,” I say, drawing up straight, lest my King think I abuse my position.

“Oh,” the King says and he walks towards me, his black cloak trailing behind him, and he stops up directly in front of me. He looks at me and I find that I want to look away but I cannot. I should avert my gaze out of honor and loyalty, but I can do nothing but meet his eyes. My mouth is dry again and I long for a long drink of cool water.

“Your sister, Raven, she is beautiful,” he whispers, not looking away, “But so are you.”

I cannot move.

“Your eyes. The color of the sea.”

I feel the King’s fingers trail along my cheek and my eyes start to flutter shut on their own accord.

“Your lips, the way they flush.”

His thumb goes to brush across my bottom lip. I do not want to, but I cannot help the sigh that escapes at his touch and my lips part slightly.

“My King,” I breathe.

“Dragonslayer. So exquisite. I have wanted this all night. No, I have wanted this since the moment they brought you into my throne room, all bloody and beautiful.”

Before I can protest, before I can remind the King that I am nobody, he bends his head and captures my mouth with his, and all thought is driven from my head as the Black King kisses me. His mouth is hot and wet, his tongue insistent, and I cannot do anything but kiss him back. I should do the right thing, remind him that in his world I am a mere servant, but his hands are sliding under my tunic, his palms running across my ribs, and all thought leaves my head because I want this. My King is still kissing me but now he starts to walk me backwards, step by step, until my calves hit the bed and I start to tumble backwards into its softness, a softness more luxurious than even the beds at Darkholme House, and for a brief second I am no longer thinking about those long fingers tugging at my leggings but of goose down and fine woven fabric. Just for a second, until those fingers slide downward inside my leggings and my cock goes from tingling to aching hard as they brush against it.

“Oh!” I say with a sharp intake of breathe. “Your Majesty,” I stutter, not quite sure what else to say.

“Erik,” the King mutters, “Call me Erik. I want to hear you say my given name.”

“Yes,” I gasp, unable to find any other words as he pulls open my tunic, bends down and starts to trail kisses along the pale skin of my chest that is almost always under armor and rarely sees sunshine. I moan at his touch. I will scream the King’s given name if that is what he wants, as long as he keeps doing that with his mouth.

I feel incredibly exposed despite the fact that I am still clothed, my head thrown back against the bed, the name of my King on my lips. My hips start thrusting up, wanting...wanting so much. The fact that any clothes stand between me and my King suddenly bothers me and I start to try to remedy this, pulling at my tunic with hurried hands, trying to hoist it over my head, pushing my leggings down almost frantically. Erik’s mouth stills and his lips leave my skin, then his hands are helping me. In a swift motion he manages to undress me, leaving me sprawling on the bed, naked, and I am grateful for Artair and the earlier bath. I lie back, panting, looking up at Erik who is looking down at me with something I might call wonder. His eyes sweep down my body: my slim but strong chest, my sinewy arms, the dark ginger hair that covers my groin, my erect cock that has started weeping in anticipation. I am not big, nowhere near as big as the King - my King - who towers above me, still in his cloak, tunic and leggings, but I am strong and healthy, muscled from training and hours on horseback. I want to ask him if I please him but I cannot find any words.

“These arms slayed a dragon.” Erik whispers as he runs his fingers down my shoulders, across my biceps and down my forearms, and I want to turn away. “My Dragonslayer.”

“These arms have done much more than that,” I whisper back. “They bear a broadsword. They slay enemies. They fight for you. The dragon was just one day, one creature.”

I want to tell him everything. Tell him that I am so much more than the person who was lucky enough to make the right stroke at the right time. My fingers draw, sketching pictures of plants I find when I wander through the woods, how I use a piece of clear glass to see things up close, how I write about the way the moon looks, how it shrinks and grows. I have read more than any other knight in my garrison. I am far prouder of these accomplishments than of being the Dragonslayer.

“So humble, my knight. That dragon brought you to me,” Erik says against my collarbone. I moan with pleasure at the feel of his mouth on my skin and I have nothing else to say.

Erik, my King, my Liege, pulls away and I lay on the bed, throbbing, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth, watching as he takes off his cloak before laying it on a nearby chair, removes his black leggings and then pulls the black tunic he is wearing over his head. Then he comes back to stand at the end of the bed, looking at me, and I cannot help but stare. He is perfect, broad shoulders, narrow hips, cock erect, beautiful and wanting, and next to him I feel small and insignificant. I want to turn my head away. How could the King of my realm want me. I am a mere knight. I am a nobody.

This thought slips away almost as quickly as it is born because Erik is crawling up over me, his mouth seeking mine, the feel of it almost desperate. His naked body slowly settles on top of me, pressing me into the bed, until every part of my skin is touching his and our cocks are sliding next to each other.

Oh gods. I have never known such magnificence, such passion.

“Please,” I say, because I cannot think of anything else to say. Erik presses down and slides up a little, and the friction makes me arch off the bed. “Please,” I say again.

“You do not want beautiful, golden Artair,” Erik mutters, sliding against me, the drag almost unbearable. My face must show that this is both incredible and a bit uncomfortable because the next thing I know Erik is spitting into a hand then reaching between us to take the precome off the tip of my cock and his, and he slicks up both with these fluids, then slides up again and this time it truly is perfection.

“I give you a gift, a gorgeous man you can do what you want with, and you do nothing. But you will take me.”

I cannot think.

“Why would I use Artair?” I manage to gasp, “I do not seek pleasure just for the sake of pleasure; to use the body of another for only my need suits me little. I do not want him the way I want you.”

Oh gods, I have said too much, revealed too much of what is in my heart right now. I close my eyes. Erik whispers into my ear.

Beautiful.

Dragonslayer.

Erik is moving faster now, rutting against me, and I am arching against him, wanting more of him, wanting the feeling to never stop, and my cock starts grows even thicker, my skin is flushed and hot and my hands wrap around his back as I push up into him, wanting...wanting. My belly starts to tighten and I can feel it start, my orgasm, the little death that I want so badly that I could scream, and then I am screaming. Screaming his name.

“Erik! My King.”

My cock throbs and spurts hot and thick and Erik follows not far behind me, collapsing on me, pinning me to the bed with his weight and I struggle for breath but I do not move. I feel Erik’s shoulders shake and briefly forget my place as I boldly gather him to me, my hands running up and down his back. Erik lifts his head and looks down at me and he is smiling.

“You are more than I had imagined, Charles. So much more.”

“I am yours, My Liege,” I say, my voice thick with sleep that is creeping up on me after a long day.

“Erik,” my King says firmly, “When we are here, together, I am Erik.” Erik kisses me gently on the cheek. “Welcome to your new home. My chambers are down the hall and I hope to visit you often.”

I am asleep before Erik is gone, my body boneless and my dreams are full of the Black King with my name on his lips.

 

* * *

 

For the second time in my life I give my fealty to my lord and King. I am sworn as First Knight to the Black King the next day, kneeling before Erik, the ghost of his kisses on my lips. Erik's face is impassive as I kneel before him but I can only see the King as he was the night before, slack-jawed and wide-eyed with wonder. I am his and as I kneel before him in deference, I know I am his forever, in all the ways he wants me.

Raven stands next to Erik as I kneel before my King, and I am grateful for her presence. I would not be nearly as happy in this moment if my place as First Knight meant I was leaving my beloved sister behind. I see her hand touch Erik’s shoulder, a strange touch of familiarity that I would never dare, then as soon as my brain registers it, her hand is back at her side, the moment gone so fast I am not sure I did not imagine it.

I remain kneeling, gazing down at the flagstones yet again. I would smile at him, let him know what lies in my heart, but I cannot. The King pronounces me Ser Charles Xavier of the house Darkholme, Slayer of the Dragon, First Knight of the realm of Lehnshire and brother in all aspects besides blood, and the lords and ladies in the hall erupt in applause. My eyes can finally meet those of my King and I lean forward, taking his outstretched hand in mine and place a kiss on its back. This is where I can no longer keep up my facade. I linger, my lips pressed to his skin, for an imperceptible sliver of time, and I try to send the message to my Lord King that I hope to see him in my bed again tonight where I can continue making my vow in other ways, offering him not just my loyalty but my body as well.

My eyes rise to dare gaze on my King again and I glance over at Raven who returns my gaze then smiles.

My life as First Knight has a peculiar rhythm and at first it feels odd, but after a few weeks, I settle into it. It is not like life in the garrison, which was mostly training, drinking and fighting. There I would know that I am going to be back on horseback within a few days, back to protecting the realm. Now my life is a lot of ceremony and long swathes of time where I am not occupied. When I am on duty I stand next to the throne, next to my King - stern - my face grave, my eyes always alert to threats. When I am not on duty I find myself at odds, searching for something to do, a way to occupy my time.

My time at night is always occupied, Erik tapping on my door, stealing into my bed, and together we discover many carnal pleasures, much more than I had ever known from any stable boy or drunken encounter. Erik is clearly experienced in the ways to love another man’s body and I find that he can reduce me to a simpering pile of rubbish with just his hands or his tongue. If this is what killing that she-beast means, if it is that chain of events that brought me here - and without her death, I would never know the love of my King - I can accept that. It is the first gift from that fated day I feel grateful for. I would give away all the riches, eschew the title, tear up the songs written, set fire to the poems scribed, but I would not easily give up my King’s lips and fingers and tongue on my body.

One day, as I am wandering about the castle and the King is occupied with some affairs of state, Raven finds me, running up behind me and leaping on my back, her arms wrapping around my shoulders and I stumble slightly under her weight.

“Brother, dearest,” she says breathily in my ear, “come play with me. Let us wander into the woods and seek out mythical creatures just like when were were small. Or you can just watch me shoot rabbits with my bow and arrow and I will pretend they are your dragon, then I will be the Dragonslayer.”

I smile, because Raven always has a way of making me smile. I should protest, tell her that I need to stay in case the King needs me, but outside of Erik, there is one other person in this world I cannot deny, and she is wrapped around me, imploring me to join her on one of her adventures.

"Of course, sister dearest," I answer. She jumps down off my back and comes around to my front then hugs me, and oh how I have missed feeling her arms around me. I return to my chamber, put on plain brown woolen hose and tunic, then I meet Raven by the stables.

"I hope the King will not miss me," I tell Raven, who is waiting for me, having shed the gowns she wears at court in favor of hose and tunic very similar to mine but dyed forest green, her favorite color. We both wear our cloaks that bear the color of the House of Darkholme, the same deep sapphire blue we had been placed in for the feast, each fastened with a broach that bears our father's crest. Raven is carrying her longbow on her back, the one father had custom made for her years ago when she had first said she wanted to learn archery.

My sister gets an odd look on her face at my words, a look that I actually cannot read, then as quickly as it was there, it is gone. I am puzzled but then Raven is once again so familiar, so full of life, that I think I must have imagined it.

"The King has given me permission to steal you away," Raven answers with a wink of her eye. I cock an eyebrow at my sister.

"Clever, dearest sister." I say.

We commandeer two horses and Raven has even thought to have the kitchen pack us a midday meal, and soon we find ourselves deep in the woods that surround the castle, the only sound around us coming from the birds and the beasts, or the wind rustling in the trees.

We search the woods until the sun starts to dip lower in the sky. Raven follows me, arrow strung, ready to let one loose on a poor, unsuspecting forest creatures. Finally we stop on the banks of a creek whose waters trill softly. I take off my cloak and spread it out for us to sit on while Raven pulls out the food she has brought. There is dark brown bread, cold venison from last week’s hunt, cheese and a skein of mead. We eat, licking our fingers, and I am once again grateful for the King’s kitchen that is now at my disposal. When I am done I turn towards Raven who pats her lap and invites me, so I lay my head upon it and she slowly cards her fingers through my hair. I am content. Almost as content as I find myself after a night with Erik in my bed.

“What treasures have you found, my brother who wants to know everything about the world?” Raven asks in a dreamy voice just as I think I might be able to fall asleep like this. I shrug.

“A new moss specimen. A rare feather. Some scat from an owl that will help me discover its eating habits. And you dear sister?”

“Four plump hares which will make a fine dinner for you and I.”

We are silent a bit longer, those fingers still in my hair, the sounds of the woods surrounding us. I close my eyes and lean into the feeling of my sister’s fingers against my scalp.

“Charles,” Raven says, whispering my name softly. I open my eyes to her to find her face is serious as it gazes down on me. “You know I love you, right?”

Of course I know she loves me. Raven’s love is as sure as the sun rising, the moon in the sky.

“You are my sister,” I say, my tone matter of fact.

“As your sister...and sometimes more than a sister should.” Raven whispers, her voice quavering a bit.

I know this as well. I have always known it. Raven would rather be with me than with any other man in the kingdom. She and I have loved each other since I came to live in the House of Darkholme. We have grown up together as brother and sister, yet we are not. We are bound together with a bond that is impossible to break and easily misunderstood. I know she loves me as a sister and I know she loves me as a woman loves a man.

“Of course,” I say, as if her love for me is the most natural thing in the world. I will not deny this to her.

"Even if I know you cannot return that love because my chest is soft, my hips are round and I do not possess a cock to thrust into you."

She says these bawdy words with a smile but her tone is wistful, as if she has more than once wished she was born a boy and as my brother she might be able to find a way to please me. She does not need to please me in that way. She pleases me enough as my beautiful sister.

"I DO return your love, Raven," I say forcefully, more than I had really wanted. "I will never love another woman more than you. My sweet sister."

She smiles wanly as if my words are little consolation, and gazes down upon my face. I look back at her as if she is my sun. I feel her take a deep breathe, her brow knits, furrowing between her eyes, and I wonder what is bothering her so.

"I hope you will understand what I am about to tell you, my beloved brother. Father is arriving tomorrow.”

Father? I blink. No one has told me that father is coming. Raven takes my hand in hers and her grip is strong. Her other hand still soothes through my hair with a gentle touch.

“The King has asked for my hand in marriage.” I hear Raven say, although my brain does not entirely understand what my sister is telling me. “And father has agreed.”

My heart drops. Erik. My Erik. The man who holds my heart. He will marry? Marry my sister?

“How?” I say stupidly, my mind still reeling.

“Forgive me, dear brother. It was entirely my scheme. The King is yours. I can see it in the way he watches you. And I know you love him. But a king needs a queen. It has been almost eight winters and King Erik has yet to find one. There are whispers behind his back at the court. They say he greatly favors his first knight, the Dragonslayer. It makes him weak.”

I am still thinking about Erik needing a queen and that queen being my sister. Raven.

“I love you, Charles,” Raven implores. “I love you as a sister and as more than a sister. I had sworn I would stay by your side, that I would never marry, but then you killed that dragon and you have become First Knight and our King visits you in your bedchamber. There are many who will want your blood, and his blood. Neither of you are safe. I approached the King, told him that I had a way he could keep you and keep the hounds that nip at the heels of his kingdom at bay at the same time.”

Wife. Mother. Heir. Erik. The words tumble through my mind and I barely hear what Raven is saying.

“I can be his queen. I can give him a child. You get to keep your King and I...I get to keep you, my darling.”

Raven’s voice trembles and I can sense a note of fear underneath the calmness of her words. She is afraid she will lose me for what she has done, afraid I will see it as a betrayal. She is not entirely wrong. I have been left out of this scheme, not trusted by two people who claim to care for me the most. I feel tears tugging at the edges of my eyes.

“And he has known of this all along?” I ask, and as much sense as Raven’s plan makes, I cannot stop the feeling of being betrayed by my King and my sister. I try to push those feelings aside, try to use my brain and tell my heart to stand down.

“Since the night of the feast when he returned from showing you your bed chambers stinking of carnal pleasures and I told him of my plan.”

I blush. Is it so obvious to the world? Can everyone see what the King and I do together? Raven’s words finally filter through to my whirling brain and I see that she is right. She is more than right, she is clever. With one union she will keep both Erik and me safe, provide an heir, and by the King’s side, rule the kingdom.

My brain says this makes sense and I choose to ignore the fact that my heart aches. I feel a smile start to pull at the edges of my mouth.

“Raven of House Darkholme,” I say, my shock slipping away, and in its place I feel a sense of pride. My words are sincere, “you will make a spectacular queen.”

“And I will never have to leave your side, brother.” she answers. “We can still have our adventures, still spend our days together. I will never have to move to another house, make a home in a different part of the kingdom. It will be you and me forever.”

And Erik, I add silently. Do not forget Erik.

Raven’s fingers have entirely stilled in my hair and I glance up at her to see her eyes filled with love. She bends down and slowly, sweetly places her lips on mine. I know I should turn my head, force her affections to land on my cheek, but I do not. I want to give this to her, want to show her that I love her too. I shift a little and bring my hands up to cradle her face. Our lips meet, pressing together, and the kiss is chaste but passionate in its own way. I feel Raven sigh against my lips, feel her tremble. The love I feel for her threatens to overwhelm me, and although I know she wants more, wants all of me, I will give her as much as I can.

 

* * *

 

The wedding will be in a fortnight.

I realize something as the wedding preparations go into full swing. In our world women marry for power. For security. They do not follow their heart, but my sister has found a way to do that. She will marry a man she does not love to keep the person she DOES.

Erik is sheepish the night I return from Raven and my adventures in the woods, sprawled naked across my bed, and I think that sheepish does not look good on my King, who is normally so stoic and strong.

“I am sorry, Charles,” he says, “I did not feel I could tell you.”

I do not ask why. I do not want to know why I was not good enough to know of the plans he and my sister had concocted. I flop next to him, propping myself on one elbow as my hand runs up his chest and finds one of his nipples that is hard from the cold despite the fire that is roaring on the hearth in my bedchamber.

“I am your servant,” I say, leaning down to replace my fingers with mouth. Erik moans.

“You are so much more,” he spits out then moans again. Am I? I cannot help but wonder. My King and my sister have conspired to marry without even a whisper to me. I grow still, removing my mouth from his skin and gazing down at my King who is looking partly undone from my touch.

"Do you love me?" It is a bold question, one I should not be asking, but I feel strangely needy and alone after the day’s events, and it comes out before I can think much about it. Erik looks at me. I know there have been many before me. There may be many after. A king has needs and the right to take what he wants.

"Does it matter, Charles?"

"Yes!" I blurt out but I quickly recant with a quieter, "No, my lord" It should not matter. I should not need my King to love me. I am his sworn servant, his to use. I cringe at the word 'use' in my thoughts.

Erik is looking at me, those eyes if ice searching my face.

"I have hurt you," he says softly. I shake my head 'no' but the carriage of my body betrays me, my shoulder shirking away from my lover's touch. I look away, grasping for control.

"You do not love me." I say, still unable to meet his eyes.

"Oh Charles," Erik's voice is heavy. "A King cannot love anyone - not like you love Raven and me. I am not allowed. My love must be reserved for my people. Even if I marry, I marry for them. For their safety and security. I can never love someone for myself."

I know the truth in his words. His whole life is arranged. Every alliance made for political gain. For a King, love is a weakness. It puts him in danger. Yet I dare to ask him this question. My gut twists. Am I part if this? Did my King seek me out because of my lips he seems so fond of or because he wants to have the Dragonslayer by his side, bound and loyal, for all to see? Am I desired for myself or am I a pawn of his reign?

"You are the most I have ever taken for myself." I hear Erik whisper, and the words sound as if they have been ripped out of him. My heart skips and my doubts drain away. I turn back to look at Erik whose eyes are now shining with tears. My mouth curls into a small smile then I return to attending to his nipples, licking and sucking, and Erik moans. I drift lower, kissing the jut of his hip, nuzzling the dark, musky curls that spread across his groin, taking in his scent, and finally I take his hard, thick cock in my mouth, eliciting a deep groan. I let go of my concerns, overwhelmed by my King's body as well as the response of my own.

 

* * *

 

My father arrives. He is dressed in the sapphire blue of House Darkholme and my heart is glad to see him. The castle is bustling with activity in preparation for the wedding and my King has little time for me. I have my duties as First Knight, but my nightly duties have slowed. I have been gripped by this strange melancholy since that day in the woods. It does not weigh down my soul at all times, but now and then I feel as if I cannot breathe from the knowledge of what is about to happen. I am the lover of the Black King and I am about to become the lover of my sister’s husband, and despite the fact that all parties have agreed to this deception, I cannot shake the fact that my sister will be the one who shares bedchambers with my King and I will be the one who waits for visits in the night like a whore. She will be the one rightfully at his side. I will be his First Knight but nothing more than that to everyone in the kingdom; they will never know what I truly am to Erik.

Raven is ebullient as ever as she is fitted for gown after gown. They are long and flowing creations of the finest silks, covered with beads and exotic decorations. Nothing is spared for the woman that the King has finally chosen after all these years. The King has ordered a new cloak for his bride, a black one, the color of her new House, and on it he has images embroidered that embody Raven so well that I am forced to swallow my jealousy. In the center are two serpents intertwined, one representing Erik and the other Raven, asking the gods for fertility. Around the serpents are symbols of animals - all the animals of the forests that surround the Lehnsherr castle: rabbits, birds, the stoat, the weasel. Lastly, around the border of the cloak were images of the hunt: the longbow, Raven’s choice of weapon; a quiver; the horn. All of this is done in forest-green thread, the color of Raven’s hose and tunic that she favors when adventuring in the outdoors. I could not have commissioned something that fit Raven more myself. How well my King knows his soon-to-be bride, I think to myself. I ignore the envy tightening in my belly, the thought about how much time my King must have spent with my sister to know such things.

I should be happy, but I cannot wait for this wedding to be over. I want my King back, I want to spend my days waiting for night to fall, but lately I dread the night because all I find myself doing is pacing across my bedchamber, biting at my nails, waiting to see if Erik might appear, although even if he does, he is tired and full of wedding planning. I am his loyal servant. I do not complain. I stroke his back softly. I do not ask for more than he is willing to give. He never stays until sunrise, like he might have on occasion before the engagement, telling me he is tired and things will go back to normal after the wedding. I ache for him, and find myself rubbing myself until I come more often than not, missing Erik’s touch so much I want to cry.

Raven is giddy, but Raven is giddy about most things. My sister could bend nature to her will. I accompany her on her errands, her fittings, tasting of the banquet dishes. I cannot hide my melancholy from her, and she tells me I am sullen and reminds me that she is doing this for me, for Erik, for all three of us. I try to smile more, and I know that she is right. Still, that knowledge does nothing to ease the way my heart aches.

My beloved father offers some respite, and we go with the men on the hunt, following baying hounds, horns blowing and the thrill of chasing a stag does briefly distract me from my burgeoning unhappiness. I start to avoid the castle, avoid Raven, only appearing for my duties as First Knight, which are few and far between with all the wedding preparations.

Raven finds me about to leave my chambers two days before the ceremony and corners me, ignoring all my protestations, my insistence that I am occupied, that I am needed for my duties, and she stands in the doorway between me and the hallway, arms crossed, refusing to move.

“You are unhappy brother,” Raven says, looking at me quizzically. I do not want to lie but I do not want to tell her the truth, so I say nothing. “Is it the wedding?”

What else would it be, I want to ask. Does the wedding not occupy everyone and everything, including my lover and my King? What else would I be concerned about? The wheat harvest in the south? I want to sneer at her, and it feels strange to feel so angry with my beloved sister, but I keep my face impassive. Raven blinks, staring at me, and her face falls. She can see through me, can see my disdain. I can tell she is hurt.

“I am doing this for you, my brother,” she says, putting a hand out, touching my tunic, and I flinch. I know she is doing this for me. I know it is the best for all of us. Still….

“You are marrying the man I love,” I spit out, immediately regretting my display of anger. Her eyes go wide and then her face goes soft. She reaches up with her hand and softly strokes my cheek and I flinch a little at her touch.

“It will be over soon,” she says quietly, “I did not anticipate this would be so hard for you Charles.”

Her face is pained and my heart skips. I should be happier. Raven becoming queen is good for me, for our whole family. It will cement our family to the Lehnsherr realm. And if Raven can give Erik an heir...

I feel ill. An heir. Why have I not thought of this before? An heir, Erik's seed, in my sister's belly. I flush when realize what this means, what Erik and my sister will have to do. Suddenly the wedding goes from annoying to unbearable.

"You will have to sleep with him, to fuck him, Raven," I hiss, unable to hold back my true feelings any longer. "He will want an heir, a son to continue the Lehnsherr line."

And he is mine to fuck, not yours, I add silently. I cannot say the words out loud because I have no right, no claim, but Raven knows that Erik is mine and she still pushed for this. All because she wanted to keep me. I feel my body start to tremble with rage and I cannot remember ever being so angry with my sister.

Raven steps back, and I can sense that she is afraid. We are both in unknown territory and I do not know what will happen next.

"I...I did not think," my sister whispers and I want to yell at her, to slap her across the face so hard my palm leaves a mark, to spit on the ground and curse her. I do none of that because despite my anger, my love for my sister looms. I am still, muscles trembling, then I turn without saying anything more, before I do something I regret. She calls after me, betraying herself to anyone who might be listening,

"Charles, my love, I will make this right."

I avoid her after that. I avoid everyone. Finally the wedding day arrives and I have slept very little, tossing and turning, missing my King for the third night in a row, and I cannot stop thinking about the argument Raven and I had. It weighs heavily on my soul.

The wedding is splendid, Raven beautiful, Erik handsome. The guests around me whisper about how beautiful the new Queen is, that they can see why the King waited, how handsome they look together. My bitterness is so strong I can taste it. The high priest binds my lover and my sister in marriage, wrapping their hands together with a silken cord, declaring them united and I look away as tears sting my eyes.

The King and Queen of the Realm of Lehnshire are presented. Then we feast. The food is like sawdust in my mouth. The wine is acid on my tongue. I sit next to the King but I cannot look at him, cannot glance his way. As First Knight I would cause gossip if I left the festivities early, so I stay seated and try to bear it with practiced dignity. Finally the King and Queen stand, thank their guests and say goodnight. They are going to their wedding bed and the whole room knows it. Someone in the back of the great hall lets out a loud 'whoop' and the guests titter nervously. Raven smiles, glowing, just like a newlywed should, and I know the realm will love her. She is perfect for this role.

After the King and Queen have gone, I can finally slip away. I make my way to my chambers and I must have drank more wine than I realized because my footing is slightly unsteady. Once I am behind the door of my chambers I fall into bed, my wedding clothes still on, and then I can finally weep. No one is there to hear the great sobs that erupt from me as I can finally let loose my loss. Erik, my King, my lover but no longer only mine.

I must have drifted off because I am woken by a tapping on my chamber door, and for a moment I forget that it is the night of the wedding and I think it must be Erik coming for his nightly visit, and before I remember, I find that I am smiling. Then I remember. Erik is no longer mine. He will not be coming to my bed tonight. I do not know when he will return again. I go to the door of my chamber, my tunic rumpled, and I must look a sight. I am ready to tell whoever it is who bothers me to go to Hell but the person on the other side of the door entirely surprises me.

Raven.

She is in her sleeping gown, her hair down around her shoulders, and she looks at me with eyes that are deep with sadness.

“Raven,” I say, startled, “what are you…”

“I need you, Charles,” she says quietly. “I told you I would make this right. I promised…”

I blink, not understanding what my sister is trying to tell me. She smiles, and it is a sweet, kind smile, then holds out her hand to me.

“Just come with me. Trust me.”

I look at her hand and for a moment I contemplate not taking it, telling her to go to Hell, shutting the door of my chambers in her face. But it is Raven and the way she is looking at me makes me think of how much we have together, how much it would hurt me to truly leave her behind, so I reach out my hand and she grasps it, holding it for a long moment, then she pulls me towards her, into her arms, wrapping herself tightly around me.

“I have missed you,” Raven whispers.

I do not point out that it is her wedding night and she is standing at my chamber door. I say nothing. I just follow her, letting her guide me down the hallway, and I know where we are going. I am not surprised when we end up outside the doors of the King’s living quarters. Raven stops and turns to me outside the chamber door.

“This is for you.” she says softly, “all for you.”

Raven pushes the heavy door open and we enter, walking through the sitting room and towards the bedchamber. When we arrive at the doorway, I gasp.

The whole room is lit with candles. In the center is a bed, a large bed fit for the King, Erik’s bed. In the center of the bed is Erik, lounging, propped up on his elbows, his eyelids heavy with wine. He is half-dressed, his tunic unfastened, showing the skin of his chest. His lips are parted as he stares at me and his skin is flushed, even in the dim light of the candles.

“Charles,” he says breathily.

“He is yours,” Raven says softly into my ear, her hand rubbing down my arm, and I shiver with desire. “All of him. Tonight and every night. All I want is his seed. Everything else belongs to you.”

I suck in my breath, my cock suddenly half-hard, my sadness sweeping away. My King is there, strong, beautiful, and he is mine. I move forward as if in a trance, stopping at the end of the bed.

“Take off your clothes,” Erik says, his voice gravelly. I bring my trembling hands to my tunic but I cannot work the ties, then there are other hands helping me. Raven’s. Her fingers quick and deft, and she is pulling the fabric up and over my head, hands skating briefly over my chest. Her fingers move to my leggings and she pulls those down, fingers brushing along the skin of my hip, and I do not stop her. I just step out of them then stand before my King, naked, aroused and very close to begging.

Raven moves away from me and walks around the bed, then crawls up on it and sits behind where Erik is sprawled. Her eyes meet mine, questioning, and I do not tell her to leave. If she wants to be here, I will not ask her to leave. Erik motions for me and I crawl up onto the bed, moving towards him then straddling his hips, settling down onto his lap, then I grind down and groan. My eyes meet Raven’s and her lips are parted. I grind down again and Erik pushes up his hips to meet mine.

“Good gods,” Erik grits out, throwing his head back, exposing the long line of his throat as he braces himself against the bed, “I have missed this.”

I feel hot, my skin burning up, and my now fully hard cock starts to leak. I lean my face down to hover just above Erik’s and then I kiss him. He kisses me back without hesitation, mouth sloppy, wet, and his tongue is rough and insistent, and his hand comes up to grip the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. I grind down again, this time rougher, less controlled. The feeling is incredible, cathartic, beautiful. My eyelids are heavy, my body aches. I want to feel Erik, all of him, not the tunic he wears, and I pull back and mutter, “off” at him. Erik knows what I want and he pushes me off him, and before he can start to undress, Raven is there again, her hands pulling off his clothing, her hands wrapping around his chest as she presses into his back, her fingers skating over his nipples, her eyes on mine the whole time. I cannot think. Erik is so responsive and he arches his head back at her touch, leaning back against her, exposing the column of his neck again, and he is so gorgeous that I cannot breathe. Then Raven moves back to sitting behind Erik and he crawls over to me, saying my name, and for the first time since we became lovers, his tone is pleading. Erik, always in control, always telling me what he wants, is pleading. I feel a surge of power, the kind that I would normally suppress, because it is not my place to accept begging from my King, but tonight is different. Tonight is outside the rules we usually live by. When he reaches me, his mouth groping clumsily for mine, I swallow hard then I speak to him and I command him. I command the Black King, my voice firm.

“I want you to fuck me.”

I hear Erik’s sharp intake of breath.

“Yes,” he hisses.

I kiss Erik hard, harder than I have ever dared in the past, telling him that tonight I am in charge. Tonight I am his Lord. His mouth is hungry, wanting more, and I do not think he will actually stop kissing me long enough for me to move to the edge of the bed, but he finally does. I go to the end, bend over, my chest pressing down into the fine, soft linen of the bedding, my hands reaching up the bed to where Raven still sits, watching us with hot eyes, her lips parted, her hands clutching at the bedding. I remember that summer day with the stable boy, with Raven watching refusing to avert her eyes, and I think to myself, ‘this is for you, sister.’

Erik comes behind me and leans over my back, settling his chest along my length, and I feel his lips go to the nape of my neck. He then kisses his way down my spine and I moan. His lips leave my skin, then his hands come to the top of my spine and stroke downwards, slowly, leaving a hot trail on my skin. I moan again, a deep, shivering sound. They come to rest on my buttocks and squeeze firmly and I gasp Erik’s name. Now. Touch me now. His fingers skate along the rise of my buttocks, then along my cleft, lightly, almost tickling, then they are going deeper and they find my anus, pressing and circling, and it feels so, so good. I jump a little, every part of my body on fire and my eyes squeeze shut as my jaw goes slack. I want him in me.

I open my eyes to look at Raven again, and she is still watching us but now she has untied the front of her gown and has reached a hand inside and is rubbing one of her nipples, her mouth slack, her eyes half-lidded. I smile at her, then the smile disappears as Erik’s fingers leave my cleft and he comes to rub against me with his hard cock.

“Oh gods,” I gasp, my eyes going shut again. Please, please, please, I silently beg. I feel his hands grip my hips and I spread my legs wider, lift my ass high, letting my body beg for it as much as my mind is. I can feel the tip of his cock pressed insistently against my anus and I realize he is oiled, and I do not remember him doing that. Then he is pressing forward, hands tightening on my hips, and I feel pressure, the sweet, hotness of his cock that I have missed, and my head hangs down, sweat dripping from my hairline.

“Charles,” Erik whispers, leaning down until his chest is pressed along my back and his face is buried in the nape of my neck. He is still, so still, and I am on my elbows, my arms shaking underneath me, my breath coming in great gasps, then I push back against him, my hips undulating, taunting him to move, and he does. My head snaps up with his first thrust and my gaze meets that of my sister, who is staring at us, her eyes wide, pupils dilated to the point that I can barely see any of the blue, and I see that the hand that is not rubbing and pulling on her nipple has reached under the light muslin of her gown, and she is sitting up onto her knees, and she is rubbing herself, her hand working between her thighs as she rocks herself onto it. I swallow and Erik thrusts again, harder, then again, groaning my name, with each thrust my whole body feels like it is going to explode.

Erik's thrusts are sharp, fast and shallow now and his breath is hot on my neck. I love his weight on me as his hips slap against my ass. He is saying all sorts of things, 'beautiful' and 'my Knight', then I hear him groan deeply, a sound I know well and just as I still my body, swallow my own cries, he cries against my back, "Charles, I am going to..."

"No," I say roughly, trying to pull away but Erik's hand grip me.

"I must...I cannot....," he pants. I squirm under him, trying to buck up, trying to turn to see him, and I finally am able to turn my head to see his face above me, wrecked.

"Your queen." I manage to gasp, "She needs your seed."

Erik stills now and we lie there, both of us fighting for breath. I look up to see Raven is still watching us, her eyes sharp and bright. Erik lets out a sigh and pulls out of me, and I try to bite back the small whimpering sound as I am left empty. He crawls onto the bed and flips onto his back, his cock standing from the glorious curls of his groin, thick and dark with arousal and I bite my bottom lip, not with desire but in hopes that the pain will hold back the tears I feel welling up in my eyes. Raven scrambles down the bed and I take her place as the one watching. She straddles his hips then lowers herself onto my lover's cock, and I watch as her face shifts into pleasure and her eyes flutter shut in ecstasy, her hand reaching back between her thighs to again seek out her clitoris. She is beautiful in the throes of ecstasy, but I cannot see this. My bitterness is back as she takes what should be mine. Erik groans, his head flips from side to side, and when his eyes meet mine he calls my name.

"Kiss me," Erik begs, and I would never deny my King but the begging cuts me to the quick in a way that hurts. I move from my place to his side and bend my head down to capture his lips with mine, and Erik groans into the kiss. I know this man, his body, the way it hitches and shakes, what every muscle twitch means, and just as I expect Erik is so close to the edge of orgasm that it only takes a few thrusts of his cock into my sister before he is crying out and emptying his seed into her. Raven’s voice mingles with Erik's as she doubles over from her own release. Only I am left, aroused and untouched. I reach down and start to stroke my rock-hard cock, which has clearly enjoyed the display more than either my brain or my heart. My moan interupts my King's post coital bliss and he pushes Raven off his chest and rolls to me, taking my hard-on in his hand and he strikes a quick and hard rhythm that has me pulsing hot and sticky all over his hand in no time. Erik takes his hand and laps at my semen then he grins at me. I smile back but I know the smile does not entirely reach my eyes.

All three of us fall asleep, and although I am boneless and blissed out, my body a poor reflection of the turmoil of my brain, I still wake in a few hours, manage to crawl out from Erik’s heavy embrace and steal back to my chambers, back to my rightful place. It is only there that I finally allow the tears I have been holding back to leak out from my eyes.

 

* * *

 

I long for my old life. Mostly I long for the time before the wedding when Erik was only mine, but sometimes I miss being just another knight, spending my days training, sleeping in my simple quarters. My life felt less complicated then and I knew who I was. I was a knight, a servant of the King, just a man. Now I am so many things to so many people I barely know myself anymore.

I am growing soft and well fed so I start adding some training into my days, working in the courtyard with one of the expert swordsman, and I like the feel of my broadsword in my grip again, her weight and her power. I train until the sweat rolls off me, stinging my eyes and I stink from exertion, swinging again and again until that old sense of familiarity returns and I feel more settled into my skin. This is better. This feels more like the old me.

Erik observes my training sometimes.

It is the place of the king to make sure his First Knight is retaining his skills. The life of the King is in my hands, and those hands must be steady and skilled. I work hard to ignore him as he stands on the side of the courtyard, watching my every move with an almost clinical indifference, his face carefully blank. I swing my sword and the trainer meets it with his, grunting with exertion, then I swivel, eyes glancing off Erik’s visage but I do not linger. If my glance lingers I am afraid I will see those eyes, the ones that have hovered above me so many times in the darkness of my bedroom. I will see the way he holds his body taut, and that tension, almost imperceptible to anyone else, is almost screaming out how much he wants me. If I look at him, I will falter. If I falter, I will bring shame to my King.

During one of these sessions, Erik motions for me to come to him.

“Your counsel, Ser Charles,” he says, his voice smooth. “On a matter of the North.” I nod and set down my sword. The North has always been problematic but has been increasingly so as of late, with more and more frequent rumors of a coming rebellion against the King. The people have never taken to the rule of the Lehnhsherrs well, and the heavy hand of Erik’s father is still felt there like it happened yesterday.

I know the North. The North is where my father lives, where my sister and I grew up. It know its hills and valleys, its lakes and streams. I know its people. They have never fully accepted the rule of the Lehnsherrs. They descend from fierce warrior tribes and do not swear loyalty to anyone; their fidelity is to each other and each other alone. They are also my neighbors, my friends. Before I began my service to the King, I would sit by my father’s side in the tavern, a cup of mead in front of me, listening to the stories of my fellow Northerners: their worries; their concerns. The North is my home and always will be.

Since there has been more unrest in the North, the King has been asking for me more. He wants to know what I think, to hear about the people, and I tell him, the stories of my home flowing easily off my tongue. He watches me intently during these strategy sessions, his eyes soft, and while I know this is about his kingdom, I cannot help but feel that he also enjoys hearing how much I love my home.

It is not surprising that King Erik would want to discuss matters of the North with me. There is little else discussed at court these days. What does surprise me is that he gestures to the attendants that follow him around to remain in the courtyard as we head to one of the long passages that lead toward the exterior walls, walking side by side. I am vibrating with anticipation because this means that Erik does not want to discuss the North at all. I am proven right once we round a corner and he proceeds to turn to me with a lascivious smile. He slowly walks towards me, step by step, and I feel the dampness of the stone wall through my tunic when I can go no further.

“I could watch you all day,” Erik growls at me. He steps even closer until our fronts are pressed against each other then he leans down and buries his nose in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “The way you smell right now, of metal, stinking of sweat, I could devour you, take you right here, turn you around and bury myself in you until you scream.”

Oh Gods.

I want him to do it. I want to beg him in a most uncivilized manner. I want to sink to my knees like the lowliest of people and plead with him. I want him to fill me with his seed, to feel it leak from me when I walk after. The need is so insistent, so urgent that I can barely breathe.

I have not had Erik to myself since the wedding night. We have fucked in all the ways that are enjoyable, but Raven is always there, watching me, waiting for Erik to come so she can take his semen into her, hoping for the magic of the gods to bring her a child, his heir. I know this is the only way I can have Erik, and he promises that once she is with child, things will go back to how they were previously, but every time I am in his bed I hate it more and more. Yet I have no right to him. I cannot protest. Instead I smile and kiss my beautiful King, and keep my reservations to myself. Still, I find myself holding back more and more.

Here, pushed against the damp stone wall, Erik pressed against me, there is no reason to hold back.

Erik’s mouth is wet on my neck as he licks a stripe down it with his tongue, tasting me. Oh gods, why did he do that. It is as if he knows exactly what will break down my defenses the quickest. I go weak in the knees, grateful for the wall behind me as I lean back against it and let out a loud moan.

“The North,” I manage to gasp, trying to stay on task, “What news?”

“I am thinking more of the south,” Erik says, his voice muffled, “Specifically, your southern region. Your taste in my mouth, how you bloom bitter on my tongue.”

“Erik!” I gasp, forgetting all formality, forgetting where we are, not that gasping out ‘my King’ or ‘my Liege’ would alter much about this situation if someone were to wander around the corner now. My informality with the King would be the least shocking thing they would witness when they found their king with his First Knight pushed up against the wall, his face buried in the crook of my neck, my name on his lips.

“I think we need to take this consultation to private chambers,” Erik murmurs pulling his attentions from my sweaty, dirt covered neck and looking me in the eye. I swallow hard, entirely clear as to what Erik means.

“Raven,” I start to say. Erik looks at me, he brow knitting with frustration.

“Just one time…” he starts to say, his brow furrowing a bit, “surely...no. She is in the garden, Charles. She can stay there. I have missed you...”

I have missed you too, my King, my Erik, I think to myself. I cannot say the words because they are too much. My stomach flips and I am flooded with lust, my legs shaking. Yes, I want to go back to my chambers, to lie back on my bed, to watch Erik’s dark head bob as he takes my cock in his mouth, to draw up my knees and open myself up, to have his cock inside me, to have him spill inside me, sticky and hot.

“Please,” I manage to whisper.

“Can you move?” Erik asks. I shake my head. I need to stay here for a moment, leaning on the dank wall, its coolness seeping through my tunic, to wait until my breathing slows and I feel that I might be able to test my legs without them giving out from under me.

“I will take care of everything,” Erik whispers, then he leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. It is not a prelude to fucking. His mouth is not open. It is a chaste press of his lips to mine, a feather-light touch, and if I thought I might slide to the ground before, this sign of affection that exists outside our bed makes me convinced that I can no longer stand. My whole body is almost shaking with desire, but Erik’s lips on mine conjures up an entirely different feeling. My heart clenches and without thinking my lips part and I say the thing that I cannot say. The one thing that must remain secreted in my heart.

“I love you, Erik.”

I feel my eyes start to fill with tears.

He stops and looks at me, and I know he cannot say it back. I know it complicates everything for him, but I do not care. What I have before me, my King, my beautiful Erik, who is telling me that he misses me, that he wants to take me and only me to his bed, is enough. It is more than enough. It feels like everything.

I will say those words again that afternoon. I will sob them, scream them, slide them across Erik’s shoulder, muffle them into the crook of his neck. It is like a floodgate has opened, and at some point I see that his cheeks are wet with tears. I stare up at him, memorizing his face, committing this moment to memory. He stares back down at me, his arms on either side of my head shaking with the exertion of holding up his body weight. Erik’s eyes are soft and warm, and I see a small, sad smile flickers across his lips.

“Charles,” Erik says, and the way he says my name makes my heart clench. I know what is coming next. “I cannot see you like this again. Not for a while. Not until…”

His voice trails off but the unspoken words are lodged between us. Not until my sister is with child. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut out the impossible situation I find myself in.

“I wish…” I say pushing myself up to place a soft kiss on Erik’s clavicle. He is still, waiting for the rest my words.

I wish things were the way they were before. I wish my King had never married. I wish the world did not need heirs. I wish there was a way we could have a life outside these walls, one where we are together. I wish for the impossible, for someone to pluck the stars from the sky and give them to me, because that actually seems more possible than what I ask of the world.

“What do you wish, my beautiful Dragonslayer?” Erik whispers against my sweat-damp hair. I wince at his words. “If I can make it happen, I will do so.”

I know my King does not lie. I know he would do anything within his power for me, but we are both trapped. Him by the circumstance of his birth; me not just by my love for another man, but the man who rules my realm. I wish for the impossible. That is what I should tell him, but instead I say that I wish we can have another afternoon like this one. He smiles and it covers his whole face, and promises me that we will. Soon.

When Erik leaves me, his duties tugging at him, I lie back on the bed, sated and sleepy. I want to weep again, but I have wept so much lately that I do not think there are tears left to shed. I am bent so far that I am about to break; the moment I will snap in two is not far off. My gut twists because I know that I am standing on the precipice of something entirely unknown. Something must change.

One thing I know will change. I will not return to my King’s marriage bed.

Raven does not look at me for two whole days after that afternoon. She must know. How can she not? I did not visit her bed that night, or the night after, or ever again. When she does look at me, our eyes meeting accidentally across the throne room, or on those occasions when I look up to find her staring at me, I see anger and accusation in her eyes that was never there before. I have stolen what is hers.

When did Erik become hers? Even if it is just his child she wants, does she not remember that he was mine long before they were married. Has she forgotten that she stole him from me, seduced him with the promise of a queen and an heir. More than anything, has she forgotten that she loves me? Has she forgotten that she married Erik only to keep me by her side and that is the reason we are all here?

A wide gulf has opened between my sister and me. She married the King to keep us together but we are further apart then we have ever been.

 

* * *

 

We will go North. The King. His knights. Erik and I.

The unrest in the North turns to riots. Erik tells the council one morning that it is time to take the knights to the North - a show of force - to put down the rebels once and for all. We will take three regiments. The King will ride with them. The First Knight by his side. I cannot contain my smile when I hear the word that preparations to go north will start. I long to be back in my chain mail and helmet, back in the saddle, and now I will be. My King will be by my side. Raven will stay at the keep.

We ride in a fortnight. If I had felt idle before, now my days are long and full. I am kept occupied with preparations and when I was one knight of many it had felt easy to pack my bed roll and mount my horse. Now I must figure out how we ensure we have bedrolls for everyone, feed for all the horses, tents to shelter the knights, wagons to haul the tents. The details are endless and when night falls I find myself taking a simple dinner by my hearth then sinking into my bed, utterly exhausted.

Just as Erik said, he does not return to my bed for long dalliances in the afternoon, or to fuck me in the darkness of night. Raven is still without child and my King is busy with preparations. He has no time, and truth be told, neither do I. Still, he somehow manages to crawl under my coverlet every other night or so, long after I have drifted to sleep, sliding his cold feet between my legs, wrapping his chilled arms around me, seeking the small pleasure of sleeping in the same bed. I often wake briefly and shift myself to curl my back against him, mumbling his name, then I feel him sigh and we sleep, wrapped around each other. I am content with this, with his body warm against mine, his face nuzzling the back of my neck. He is usually gone by the time I wake, but on a few occasions we wake in each other's arms and I have the joy of seeing my love in my bed as the sun rises, his hair tousled, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

The ride to the North cannot come soon enough. I ache to be away from the court. Truth be told, to be away from my sister. My heart hurts at the thought. Never once in my life have I imagined wanting anything but Raven by my side. Still, it is a truth that I am starting to realize I cannot ignore.

Raven has taken on the role of Queen like a second skin. I knew it would suit her. She sits next to Erik, smiling and the people love her. Some days she rides out to one of the many small villages that dot the countryside around the castle, and the residents run up to her, greeting her, touching her. Their hands are covered with the dirt of the fields, their clothes unwashed but she never shies away. Instead she reaches down and takes their hands in hers, and smiles kindly. When she rides out she wears the cloak Erik had made for her as a wedding gift over her shoulders, fastened with a broach that bears the Darkholme crest over a plain gown of forest green. Her blond hair flows loose around her shoulders. She is every bit the beautiful Queen the people dream of. She brings sweets for the children and instructs her porter to make sure the King hears about repairs needed to a barn or a family who needs some extra food. She is humble and perfect. Everyone loves Queen Raven.

If we were speaking to each other, I might tell her that she has finally found what she was born to do. She is the benevolent Queen of the people and they will follow her, into war and into peace. I suspect that Raven knows this. She is my sister after all, and she is one of the smartest people I know. If there is one thing Raven is talented at, it is inspiring loyalty and knowing how to use it. This thought stings me. Has she done anything different with me? Have I not been like those people in the villages, adoring her, willing to do whatever she wants?

I have not spoken to Raven for more than a fortnight. Nay, longer than that. Not since the day Erik returned to my bed. I do not want to speak to her, to see the accusation in her eyes, to hear her tell me I have betrayed her trust when I never fully agreed to this arrangement in the first place. I do not want to face the temptation to remind Raven that this is her doing.

Soon Erik and I will be afield and Raven will remain at the castle. I will be free of her glares and her sharp tone as I stand beside the King’s throne, her cold smiles as we pass each other in the hallways. It seems like a lifetime ago that I stood before the King and my beautiful sister had burst through those doors and captured everyone’s hearts. Now she is as cold as I am stoic, each of us standing on either side of the King we share. It would be hard not to notice that something is amiss. I know the court whispers that things between the King’s queen and First Knight are fraught, that she reviles me, but I do not care what the buffoonish lords and ladies gossip about behind closed doors. All I care is that I have a place at my King’s side and that he has a place in my bed.

Our date of departure draws closer. Soon it is a handful of days before we leave.

I am eager to be back on horseback, traveling to the North, back to my home, to Darkholme, to my father. The air still holds the chill of winter but the last of the snow has melted, and although we will face mud, the going should be mostly easy. Easier than traveling in the dead of Winter. I cannot wait to be out in the woods and meadows, the dark passages and damp walls of the castle far behind me and Erik by my side. I will be staying in the tent of the King, the First Knight sworn to protect the monarch, and I promise Erik as I kiss him one night that I intend to stay very, very close. I will have every day and every night with him, and I can barely contain the joy that has seeded itself in my heart.

It is perhaps my foolishness and my daydreams that allow Raven to come into my chambers without my notice one day as I sit staring out the window, imagining days and nights full of adventures. She says my name and I jump, springing up from where I have been sitting at my desk.

“Raven!” I say, stumbling over her name a little, and my surprise is great to find my sister in my private chambers. She stands before me wearing a beautiful gown of black wool, embroidered with gold thread, and the thin circlet of the Queen sitting on her head. Her hair is down around her shoulders and I realize that I am not looking at my sister but at the Queen of Lehnshire.

“You have won, brother. I wanted to tell you that before you left.” Raven says quietly. If someone was listening they might think her words demure, but I know my sister. There is a deadly edge to what she says. I blink.

“I did not know we had entered into a contest, dear sister.” I say with a smirk, feeling anger welling up at her smugness.

I long for my sister and not the Queen who stands before me, eyes flashing with displeasure. I long for when we would ride through the woods side by side, looking for rare plants and truffles and all other sorts of natural treasure, for nights reading to each other on the hearth at Darkholme. I long for anything other than what we have become to each other. I want to remind her that she did this for me, because she loves ME, despite that fact that I am not hers. I have never been hers and she was a fool to think that she could keep me. I am the King’s, and he his mine.

I say none of this.

“He will not fuck me,” Raven hisses. “He will not give me his seed. You have stolen him from me, bewitched him.”

I am taken aback. Does my sister truly think this is sorcery and not love? My mouth twists and I can no longer hold back the truth

“Me?” I laugh dryly and my words are bold. “Am I at fault? Oh dear sister, what has happened to you? This was your scheme, your clever plot to become Queen and still have the love of your brother. You missed the part where I love another. You are the only woman I will ever love, but you will also never be more to me than my sister, the girl I grew up with. I have tried to give you what you want but I cannot.”

Raven does not answer. She just stands, staring at me, her face pale, mouth pinched and the skin around her eyes tight. My sister, my beloved sister, looks so miserable and it hurts me. For a moment I long to take her into my arms, to stroke her hair, to tell her we can get it all back. We be what we used to be to each other again. Then I remember all that she has done, all that she wants and cannot have.

“When did you grow to hate me so much, brother?” Raven says quietly.

I huff out a little laugh. I do not hate Raven. I cannot hate her. Despite everything, I love her and I always will. I hate what we have become. I hate that she wants what she cannot have. I hate that everything hangs in the balance.

“Maybe when you conspired to marry my lover?” I say carefully and I watch as Raven flinches almost imperceptibly, “Or when you brought me into your bed so you could take what is mine? He is mine, you know. All of him. That is why this will never work. You gave him to me, married him for me, but you forgot that not only do I love Erik, he loves me. He would never have stayed in your bed. If he did not come to me now, he would have come to me tomorrow, or after the next winter, or when the moon was full again. It was only a matter of time. How did you think this would end?”

My words are cruel. I know they hurt. They are meant to. Raven and I, we must end this and hurting her is the only way I know how to do that.

“There is no game to win, Raven.” I say, my lip curled, my words brimming with disdain that I would never have imagined I could hold for my sister. “There never has been, except in your head.”

She is crying now, tears streaming her face. I look away because I do not want to see that I have succeeded. I have ripped out my little sister’s heart in the cruelest of manners.

“Charles,” I hear her gasp, “please.”

My anger starts to slip away. I do not hear Queen Raven or the Raven who sought to bind me to her because she could not bear to lose me. I hear my sister, who I have spent most of my life with. Raven has held my heart in her hands since the day I came to their household, full of sorrow from losing my family, shivering from being swept away in a creek. I remember how she had been only eight years old but she had crawled underneath the coverlet of the strange bed I had curled up in the middle of, lay down next to me, stroked my hair and told me it was going to be okay. Suddenly I am struck by how much we have both lost in the last few months. I turn back to face her and she no longer looks like the Queen. She looks small and lost, and I take two steps towards her and fold her into my arms. I cling to her, crushing her to my chest, and I feel her take a deep, quivering breath and her arms come up to wrap around my back and she holds me just as tight.

We are saying goodbye, and I know it is forever.

Raven tilts her head up to look at me and the look in her eyes sends a jolt of sadness through me. Before I can think about what I am doing, I tips my head down and capture her lips with mine. I cannot give her much of anything. What she wants belongs to another. But I can give her this. A kiss. Raven’s chest hitches with a suppressed sob as my lips touch to hers. The kiss is meant to be chaste, comforting, but she opens her mouth a little and kiss between a brother and sister becomes something else entirely. Her hands start to stroke up and down my back, and she pulls me even closer. I know I should pull away, but I do not. I want to give her this one last thing. It is all I have left.

I have never slept with a woman before. I never will again. This will be my gift to Raven. She will be my one and only. She is different than Erik, and I do not feel that deep, uncontrollable lust that I feel when I am with him, but her hands are deft and she brings my cock to attention to a reasonable degree. Her lips are soft and yielding. Her thighs are smooth and when she sinks herself onto my cock, she is slick and wet, sliding up and down me so easily as I lay on the bed. Raven’s skirts are hitched up around her waist, her hand between her thighs, touching herself as she fucks me. I wonder what Erik thought of this experience, how it was for him, and I long for him to be the one kissing me. My mind wanders further, thinking about Erik’s body, long and lean, how he feels inside me, and even though it is Raven above me, I come with Erik’s name on my lips. If I were to open my eyes at that moment I would see that Raven’s heart has been entirely broken. I tried to make things better, tried to give Raven what she wants. I have dug the hole even deeper.

I will never tell Erik of this moment. It is not something he needs to know. It is between myself and Raven. When she is done, doubling over with her own organism, crying out my name, we do not collapse on each other or whisper to each other. We are not lovers. Raven lifts off me then slides off the bed and stands in the middle of the room, smoothing her skirts. She looks at me and the proud woman who walked into my chambers is gone. Her shoulders are slumped, and she looks strangely haunted. I have seen this look before, on knights returning from battle, barely escaped with their lives, their eyes full of the bodies that fell around them. The Queen is gone. My sister is gone too. I do not fully recognize the person who sits in their place. I tried to give Raven something of what she wanted and in the process I have destroyed her.

“You will get everything you deserve, dear sister,” I say with sincerity, wanting to find the words that can make this better. “Power, prestige. You could lead all our people off a cliff if you wanted. This is your destiny. You are beloved.”

She looks at me, silent, and I see that her eyes are shining with tears but they no longer fall onto her cheeks and wet her face.

“Beloved by all but the one I really want,” Raven says, her words as quiet as the whisper of dry leaves rustling in the Autumn wind. I feel like I am almost imagining her words. I will carry this image of my sister for the rest of my life. Raven standing in my chambers looking utterly destroyed.

Destroyed by her own brother.

 

* * *

 

The journey north is harder than I had expected. The weather turns cold and the horses tire from dragging wagons through the mud. Still, I am almost jubilant, in my rightful place, riding next to Erik. A journey that normally takes two days on a fast horse is more than doubled because we are taking three garrisons of knights and all our supplies. We ride during the day and sleep on the ground at night. I insist on being on of the members of the guard who keeps watch over my Liege at night, sitting in the darkness, surrounded by the sounds of the wood, listening to Erik’s slow breathing as he lies in his bedroll. He had looked at me before settling for the night, flashing me a small, secret smile and I hold that smile in my memory, take it out, play it over and over again as the night grows colder.

I have not realized how much I have missed the natural world, the woods and the fields. Outside that one day with Raven, I have not gone wandering and collecting, letting that hobby fall by the wayside, replaced by others, some more pleasurable, some less. Now I find my eyes are keen to find new treasures, and more than once I halt the entire company that rides with us because I have spotted a tree I have never seen or a plant by the roadside that I must take as a sample. At night when I have taken my shift and can finally lie down in my bedroll, I stare up at the sky, studying the stars, committing them to memory and in the morning I wake and draw them, scratching across parchment.

“You are happy, my most noble knight,” Erik murmurs one day when we have managed to snag a rare moment alone on this journey. I look at him and offer him a genuine smile.

“I am, my Liege.”

In the middle of the eighth day, blessed with a clear sky and a brightly shining sun, our party reached a cairn that I recognize. I know that just over the nearby hills lies the Darkholme estate and beyond that, the first of the northern bergs. The cairn stands in a large open space and nearby is a small steam that can serve as a water source. Around the field is a copse that should yield enough game to provide some fresh meat. I gaze around, then I look at Erik. He nods.

We will set up our camp here.

I look around at my knights, my brothers-in-arms. They are weary and splattered in mud. I then nod at their commander who lets out a bellowing shout telling everyone that we have reached our destination. A great cheer rises from the ranks then there is a flurry of activity. There are tents to be erected and fires to be built.

Erik and I ride to the edge if the copse together, leaving the chaos behind and stealing a few moments alone.

"This is the land you grew up on?" He asks me. I nod. "And your childhood home is not far."

"Just over the hill, m'Liege," I say, keeping my tone formal. I see Erik wince and I know he wants me to lapse into his given name, but I cannot. I am not his lover right now. I am his First Knight.

"Are you happy to be home, Ser Charles?" Erik asks. There is an melancholic edge in his question that I cannot quite discern, and I want to ask my King what bothers him, but cannot. He sits stiffly in his horse, staring at the trees on front of us.

"My home is by your side," I say boldly, risking a small intimacy. I could simply remind my King that my oath keeps him by his side, which means that I have no home, but I sense that Erik needs something more than a reminder of my fealty to him. He turns his face to mine and smiles. My heart skips a beat.

"Still, Ser Charles, you would be glad to see the house you grew up in, the bed you slept in, your father."

"Yes," I answer truthfully. “I would like that very much.”

By the time we return from scouting the copse, riding up the stream for a bit, the King's tent is up. Erik has every right to retire and I can see weariness around the edges of his eyes. I long to smooth it away, to take him in my arms, but I give no indication of these thoughts as I walk by his side while he visits the knights who have traveled this same journey. My heart swells with love for this man, both as the man who occupies my bed and as our benevolent King.

Finally we return to the royal tent, which has been provided most if the comforts of home. This is far from how I would have traveled in the past, equipped with only a bedroll and with only the comfort if the hard ground.

"The first knight stays with me," Erik says as we stand in the tent. "For my safety."

He licks his lips as he watches me and even after being on horseback most of the day, my cock perks up at Erik's tone that says I am there for his pleasure as well as his safety. I look forward to darkness.

"I will still take my watch," I say, and it comes out more breathily than I want.

"Of course," Erik murmurs. "You have your duty."

I move to place my bedroll on the floor, spreading it out, although I know that I will not be using it much. Erik has gone to one of the trunks that traveled with us and he is rummaging around in it. He returns to stand by my side and I feel his fingers dare to touch my wrist, lingering for a moment, stroking softly. My eyes flutter shut at his touch. Dear gods, nightfall cannot come quick enough. His fingers leave my skin and I shudder. Then he is handing something to me, a parchment wrapped package. I take it in my hands, turning it. My eyes lift to meet Erik's.

"A gift." He says with a smile.

"I do not need a gift, my lord," I protest, feeling overwhelmed.

"I want to give it to you."

I open the package carefully. It is a small wooden box, carved of precious rosewood, buffed until it shines. On the lid are my initials inlaid in gold. I stare at it and I am flooded with emotion. I stroke the letters, feeling the coolness of gold under my fingertips.

“Oh, Erik,” I sigh, slipping into the informal language of our bedchamber. “This is beautiful.”

“Open it,” he says with a smile. I slide the lid open inside are twelve small compartments carved into the wood. “For your treasures,” Erik says, coming closer to me. “A place to put those things you find and want to keep for your studies.”

I am crying now, and I wish he had waited until the cover of darkness to give this to me so I could turn and place my lips on his, thanking my King with a kiss because words escape me. Erik takes my hand again, holding it lightly, and am I glad for the privacy of the tent because there is nothing about this moment that would not betray everything we are to each other.

“I need to start my watch,” I gasp. It is mostly true. My watch will come soon, but what I need more is to walk for a bit, to let my heart slow, to breathe in some of the cool Northern air until I can think again.

Erik nods, his eyes locked with mine, “I will wait for you, my knight.” he says softly and he releases my hand. I look at the box again, then place it on the top of my bedroll. It is a gift beyond measure.

I cannot take my watch in this condition, feeling distracted and preoccupied. I cannot fail my King because of my love for him. I walk around the camp until my brain calms down and my heart is back to beating slow and strong. Finally, I feel able to return to my duties, and so I relieve the knight who stands outside the King’s tent and I stand guard, my eyes sharp, my senses keen, watching for danger, and if anyone dare get near my King, I will kill him.

My watch crawls by until finally the next soldier in the guard comes to relieve me. Then, finally, I can return to the tent, return to the King, and once I allow myself, the ache I feel for him returns in full-force.

I find Erik sitting on his bed, watching me as I am finally am able to shed my chainmail and my helmet. I leave it in a pile in the corner, and I should take the time to clean it, but I do not want to. Erik’s eyes watch me as I undress, next taking off the tunic then the hose, letting them fall to the ground as well. I find a bowl of water with a rag, wet the rag and proceed to wipe down my body, washing away the dust and grime of eight days travelling and eight days in my armor. The entire time Erik sits on the bed watching me with hooded eyes, silent except for the occasional huff of breath. I slip into my night shirt, enjoying the feel of the clean muslin against my skin, and I stretch my arms upward, letting lose some of the tension of the day. I do all of this, prepare for bed, knowing that my preparations will most likely be undone shortly, and I will be undressed and soiled in no time. The thought brings a small smile to my lips, and I am so eager for the attentions it is all I can do to walk slowly across the tent to my bedroll.

I see Erik shift in bed and he grimaces, and this is when I realize that my Liege is not used to life in the saddle, and he surely sore and aching after riding for days. I take a quick detour and stop at my saddle bags which are leaning on one of the walls of the tent, rummage around and find a small clay pot that I always carry with me when I am on horseback for long periods of time. I then walk over to my bed roll and start to open it.

“Charles,” Erik growls, his voice gravelly. I look at him and smile, feeling more than a little presumptuous since I know it is just the two of us and we will not face interruption. I know what my King wants. It almost vibrates off him, and I enjoy the little edge of power I have in refusing to surrender immediately. “Do not tease me.”

I cannot help myself but I do not keep myself from him any longer. I stand, leave my bedroll behind and crawl into the bed next to Erik, the small clay pot gripped in my hand. Erik glances at it and raises his eyebrows at me, licking his lips. I laugh at my King and his one track mind.

“Lineament, my Liege,” I say, “if you used it for other, um, activities, it might burn a bit.”

I uncork the pot and dip my fingers in, and my nose is met with the medicinal smell of mint and bitter herbs. I then reach my hands under Erik’s loose nightshirt and start to rub the salve across his skin in small circles, feeling his muscles under my fingertips. I feel his body start to relax.

“Oh, Charles,” Erik moans, leaning back against my fingers. “That feels so good. I did not realize how much my muscles ached.”

“Not all pleasures in life are carnal,” I say, my hands moving to make larger circles, warm from the salve and the heat of my body.

“Do not think that I will not know those pleasures tonight, my beautiful Dragonslayer,” Erik sighs. I do not doubt my King’s words. I full expect to be spread out under him shortly, but right now I will try to take away some of the soreness from our travels.

“I love you, Erik,” I say quietly, my hands moving to knead his shoulders and he relaxes back against me.

“And I am yours, Charles,” Erik answers. His words are true, at least for now. Here, together, the castle and court far behind, he is indeed mine. I take what I can get and for my own peace of mind and I do not myself think past this moment.

After my attentions have turned to the corporeal and Erik and I are lying spent in each other’s arms, I watch my King drift to sleep, memorizing his face, the way his eyelids twitch a bit, the soft movements of his fingers as he dreams. As much I want to stay, I cannot. I slip from his arms and crawl into my cold and unwelcoming bedroll, and in spite of this, I am happy. Happier than I have been in a long time.

Life in the camp settles into a routine. My days are filled with riding by Erik’s side as he tours the various hamlets and bergs of the North. He talks to the people everywhere he goes, sitting in taverns with cups of mead in front of him, listening to the concerns of the common people. Although he has come to the North with a show of force, his real weapon is not violence but winning the hearts of the people. He tells me at night, as we lie together, pressed up against each other, that his father had always tried to tame the North with force, just as he tried to tame his son in the same manner. He wants to do things differently. I once again hold back the tears that I want to shed for my King.

My nights are filled with Erik, in more ways than I had ever imagined. At the castle we lived on stolen moments, and his duties would sometimes keep him from me for days at a time. Here we eat together, ride together, sleep together. I am surprised to discover one night, as I lay in his arms tracing patterns across his chest with my fingertips, and although my cock is interested, it is only half-hard, that I am content. For the first time since that fateful day that I killed the she-beast and my life changed, for better and for worse, I do not feel the tug of a million different things at once. I wonder if this will be the happiest time of my life, if I will look back on it with fondness, because I also feel like a fool to think this will last. Still, I take it. I seize it greedily, sucking up all of the man I love so desperately that I can possible take, and he keeps giving everything he has to me.

Something must give. I push the thought away, tuck it away, put it in my precious rosewood box and shut the lid. I will not let the future intrude.

It does anyway.

It has been at least a fortnight since camp was set up, maybe close to two. The weather is getting warmer and I sometimes step outside the tent to take a deep breath of the fresh morning air, and it smells like my youth, of my home. We still have not visited Darkholme. There have been more pressing matters at hand, but our work has slowed and Erik promises me that we will ride that way soon. Just the two of us. I look forward to this, look forward to it being just myself and my King, and I look forward to the familiar walls of Darkholme. I have not been home since I took my vow and became a knight.

The day we are finally able to ride to my childhood home, word comes from the castle, and I busy myself tightening the saddle of my horse while I watch Erik talk to the rider. His face is serious, and he rolls the parchment he carries, looking at it and frowning. I am sure that he will tell me once we are on the road, so I push any concern I have aside and take the bag one of the kitchen servants is holding out to me, thanking him and placing it in my saddle bag. I add my rosewood box to my bag as well, looking forward to being able to stop and collect a few specimens along the way. I then strap on my broadsword, because even if this ride is leisurely, I am still sworn to protect the King and I never know when I may have to defend against an attack.

The sky is clear today and the grass under my feet is still damp with the morning dew. I shiver a little and draw my mantle around me, the sapphire blue of the House of Darkholme, and although I sometimes long to wear the black of my King, today I wear my father’s colors with pride. I am coming home.

Erik suggests we should send word ahead, but I beg him not to. If we tell father I am coming, he will prepare a feast, make a big deal about the Dragonslayer, First Knight, and all I want to be today is Ser Charles Xavier of House Darkholme, ward of Durwyn Darkholme, adopted son. I will surprise my father and I look forward to his arms around me.

“You love him dearly,” Erik says to me as we ride out of the encampment.

“He took me in,” I say, “under no obligation. He raised me as his son, gave me a roof over my head, has done nothing but look after my well-being.”

Erik looks thoughtful as we ride further down the road, the camp fading into the distance behind us.

“I do not know what it means to have a father who cares.”

Erik has told me a little about his father, King Sebastian Lehnsherr, a tyrant, only cruel and never kind. He was truly the Black King and his moniker was passed on to his son. I have seen the evidence of his cruelty, the stripes of scars across my lover’s back, faded and white, barely visible, but still there. I have kissed each one and wished them away.

“Maybe someday you will get to be a father yourself,” I say, and it is a rare moment of acknowledgement of the situation we left behind at the castle, the queen and the need for an heir. Erik frowns and a dark look passes over his face, and I say nothing more, not wanting to remind him of our predicament. We ride further, our horses walking lazily amongst the canopy of leaves that loom over our heads, the sunlight filtering through them, dappled and green. I can sense that a dark cloud has settled over my King’s head. I do not bother myself with succession. I do not even carry the blood of House Darkholme, and in a way it frees me to live my life mostly by my own code. Erik cannot escape the need for an heir, and here I have brought it up again.

We do not hurry and after a while of riding in silence, the dark cloud seems to dissipate and Erik asks if we can stop and I can show him some of the woods that I know like the back of my hand. We stop by a small creek that winds its way down a hill, tethering the horses on a tree and I look around and remember that there is a glen just over the rise if you follow the creek. The horses lean down the drink from the clean water and I boldly take Erik’s hand in mine and lead him along its banks. The ground along the creek is loamy and there are skunk cabbages and other plants who love to find their home in water-logged soil poking their head up along the bank. My feet sink into the ground and I am sure my leather boots will be caked with mud, but I do not care. My hand holds that of my King and the connection between us is warm and strong. After walking for not too long we crest the hill and we are looking down into a narrow valley, lush and green, trees lining its slopes, the floor a carpet of bluebells and wood sorrel. It is more beautiful than I remember. I release Erik’s hand and make my way to the base of one of the trees where a cluster of small white pom pom flowers are giving off a strong scent. Grabbing a stick discarded from one of the many trees, I start digging at them.

“Wild garlic,” I say, looking at Erik over my shoulder as I crouch, the roots pulling up from the soft ground. He wrinkles his nose at the smell.

“It stinks,” Erik says.

“Father’s cook will be delighted,” I tell him. I harvest a whole sack-full to bring with us.

I remove my cloak and spread it out amongst the bluebells, gesturing for Erik to come sit with me, and he lowers himself down next to me. I am reminded of Raven, of our very last adventure together when she told me of her intentions to marry the King, that she would become the Queen. It is my last happy memory of her, and for a moment I feel a quick stab of loss. I push it back, open the sack of food and pull out meat and bread and even an apple gleaned off a copse of wild apple trees the camp cook had come upon. It is a true bounty.

We eat, and I even dare feed Erik a piece of cheese, although he laughs at me and brushes me off, telling me he is a grown man. I watch his mouth as he bites into the apple, and a little juice lingers on his lips. Feeling uncustomarily confident, I lean forward and kiss the corner of his lips, knowing that it is just the two of us. Erik pulls back at my touch, startled, and I did not mean to surprise him like that. Then his eyes soften as he looks at me.

“Charles,” he gasps, and the way he says my name causes a shiver to run down my body. He has never said it like this. He is so full of longing, so desperate, sounding almost broken. His hand comes up and his fingers curl around my jaw and I sigh and turn my face into his palm. We stay like this for what feels like an eternity, a stolen moment witnessed only by the trees and the woodland creatures. Then Erik speaks again and his words still my heart.

“I love you,” he says.

I gasp for air.

“My Liege,” I sputter, “you do not have to say those words...I know...I have always known….”

A king cannot love someone. A king can only love his people. Loving one person makes him weak. Erik may love me, but he must push it aside for his own safety, and now he is saying those words, and my heart soars and plummets at the same time.

“It is Raven,” Erik says softly, and it is as if my sister’s name is being torn from him. My mind returns to this morning, to the rider from the castle, the dark cloud over my King’s head. “She is with child. We must return to the castle."

I cannot speak.

It is the beginning of the end.

Erik leans forward and kisses me, and I return his kiss, feeling greedy and injured. I am not gentle. I am insistent, demanding, wanting more, wanting to feel him and stop feeling at the same time. This kiss becomes another and then another, hard, painful, desperate, lips and teeth clashing, tongues pushing against each other. Finally we both pull back, panting, staring at each other. Erik’s face is miserable, mirroring how I feel, and I wonder if I look the same. Erik will have an heir. It is what we had hoped for. But this pregnancy is a death knell for what is between Erik and me. Suddenly we both start ripping off our clothes with shaking fingers, stripping off tunics and hose and boots, until we are naked. I am hard and aching, longing for my King. Then we are kissing again, hands skating across bare skin, and with no one nearby to hear us neither of us hold back our moans. I feel tears start to leak from my eyes.

This is where we end. Here in this glen surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of nature. Erik will return to the keep. I will not. I was such a fool to think that I could ever have the King for any length of time.

I end up on my hands and knees with Erik slamming into me, while I beg him to fuck me harder. He grips my hip with one hand and the other reaches around to grip my cock, jerking it roughly. I am almost doubled up with the force of his thrusts. I whine and moan and writhe, begging for release, and finally I come, my whole body shuddering, and I struggle to keep from collapsing as Erik continues to pound into me. The sensation is almost unbearable, but I hang on until he is gripping me and shaking with his own release, collapsing into my back, his welcome weight pushing me onto the softness of my cloak. He buries his face in the nape of my neck and my back is wet with his tears. Only then can I say what needs to be said, turning my head, staring into the forest but seeing nothing.

"You must let me go."

"I cannot. Gods help me, I cannot." Erik sobs against me. It does not matter. I must be set free of my vow. He cannot keep me. "...Charles. My Charles...I love you...."

I almost gasp from the pain that shoots through me. Erik's love for me makes everything so much worse, and I wish he did not care for me, that I was just another servant to be used and abandoned. Love makes it harder to walk away.

"...I cannot let you go..."

"Erik, my love," I say quietly, turning my head to place a soft kiss on the back of his hand. "you must."

I will stay at Darkholme. I will help my father sow the field with seed, will rediscover the nooks and crannies of the countryside I had known in my youth, and when the time is right, I will seek my fortune elsewhere, far from the realm of Lehnshire. I will leave everyone behind, even the knighthood that has defined my last ten winters. I will no longer be First Knight. I will not be the Dragonslayer. I will just be Charles.

Erik and I clean ourselves and dress, and we leave the glen without saying a word to each other. We will ride the rest of the way to Darkholme in silence.

My father is overjoyed to see me, rushing out to greet us when we approach, and I am grateful for his warm welcome. When he bows deeply to the King, Erik manages a laugh despite the sadness in his eyes, and he tells Durwyn he thinks of him as his own father and formality is not necessary here. Somehow I manage to keep the mood light despite the heaviness in my heart. We are fed a simple country supper, all foods of the North, foods of my home. Then Durwyn takes Erik for a tour of the lands owned by the Darkholmes. I can see the tension in Erik’s posture, written around his eyes. His mouth is tight and pinched. I long to touch him, to soothe away his pain but I no longer have claim. Not after telling my King he must relieve me of my duty and let me go.

Finally the sun is low in the sky and I know it is time for him to go. We ride to the edge of my father’s property, then Erik turns to me, searches my face. I want to turn away but I do not. I owe him this.

“My beautiful Dragonslayer,” Erik whispers, his face lit by the overly bright light of the dying sun.

“No,” I say quietly, “I am just Charles, but I am your Charles. That is what I will be forever.”

“I cannot,” Erik says, his face a mask of pain. "I cannot do this. I cannot wake up tomorrow without you, and the next day or the day after..."

“You must.” I answer. “You must let me go.”

“I am not strong enough.”

“You are the strongest man I know.” I speak the truth as I see it. My King is strong of heart, mind and body. This will not destroy him.

“Me?” Erik laughs joylessly, blinking through his tears. He looks at me. “Says the man that killed a dragon.”

It is my turn to laugh now, the sound bitter and sharp in the quiet of the woods that border Darkholme. I am haunted by that one moment in time, that one accidental stroke that brought me to the attention of my kingdom and my King. Dragonslayer. Blessed one.

“Killing the she-beast does not make me strong,” I say softly, “it makes me lucky. You must let me go my Liege.”

“No.” Erik says forcefully.

“My King”

“NO!” Erik roars, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his fists.

“Erik!” I say sharply, using his given name. He stills and looks at me.

If he does not release me from my vow here and now, I will return with him, but it will no longer be because I love him. It will be against my will, and I will serve him, in mind, body and spirit, but out of duty and nothing more. I will be nothing more than the King’s whore, and it will be his right to use me as he pleases. I am asking him not make me do this. I have lost my knighthood, my sister, and now my King, and with him, my heart. If I return with him, I will lose the only thing I have left: myself.

“Let me go,” I say again. Erik nods, and his face is wet with tears, as is mine. I feel pain akin to someone running me through with a broadsword. We stare at each other, neither of us moving, then Erik lets out a sigh and I see his broad, strong shoulders slump.

“You are set free from your duty.” Erik says, his voice tight. The sound of it breaks my heart. “But we are not done, Charles Xavier.The next time I see you, you will be able to choose me of your own free will, and I will be able to choose you. I will not let you go. I will never let you go. I will find a way….”

I close my eyes, wanting so badly to believe what Erik says. They are just words. We both know we will never see each other again. My chest clenches so tight that I can barely breathe. I do not know if I will survive this pain. I say nothing to Erik. There is nothing left to say.

“I will send your things,” Erik says, taking up his reins.

“I want nothing.” I answer, knowing that I need a clean break, otherwise I will return to him. “Keep them, burn them, give it all away.”

Erik stares at me. His eyes bore through me and I want more than anything to throw myself into his arms, to tell him I am wrong, that I will stay with him forever. I say nothing.

“I will never forget you, Charles, the man who will always hold my heart,” Erik whispers.

“Nor I you,” I answer. I will love this man until the end of time. Nothing can change that.

There is nothing left to say, and although I long to kiss him, to feel his lips on mine one last time, I do not move. If Erik kisses me now I will beg him to take me back, and I know that is not what I want. I have been set free.

Erik gives me one last longing look, then he digs his heels into the sides of his steed and with a shout of ‘HA!’ the horse takes off, immediately going into stiff gallop and like that, I am alone. I stare down the road, long after I can no longer see the form of my lover, long after the sun has slipped beneath the horizon and the bright green of the forest has turned to shades of grey. I would shed more tears but I have none left. Then I turn my horse back towards my father’s house, urge him gently to a walk and return to Darkholme.

“Charles!” my father says when he finds me brushing my horse in the stable, “I thought…”

“I have been released of my duties.” I tell him, struggling to keep my voice steady despite my overwhelming grief. “Can I stay with you? I need to come home."

My father stands at the door of the stall and watches me. I take a deep breathe and try to put on a brave face as I am cracked into a million pieces on the inside and I have no idea if I will ever be able to heal from this insult to my soul.

“Oh, Charles,” Durwyn says, “I am so sorry.” And with that I know that he knows. I put down the brush and walk towards my father, and he puts his arms out and folds me into them, and I am eleven again, sobbing my heart out because I will never see my parents again, will never feel my mother’s touch, will never hear my father’s voice. Except it is eleven winters later and I am sobbing this time because I have lost the love of my life.

Durwyn takes me to my old room, the one I slept in as a boy, and he helps me into bed, then tucks the coverlet around me and places a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Sleep well, my boy,” he says softly. “Things will look better in the morning.”

Nothing is better in the morning, or any of the mornings that follow. My loss is great and my sorrow runs deep. I am wracked with regret. I cannot sleep, I cannot eat. In the least, the further I get from the day Erik let me go, the more numb I feel. On the good days it even feels like a terrible dream. When I am able to sleep, I wake in the night, calling out his name, missing his body against mine. I would face the dragon again, fight the best knight in the kingdom, just to ease this pain.

Slowly things get better. The pain starts to recede. I do not think of him every waking moment. I start to be able to sleep.

It is high summer and the wheat I helped sow in the fields has grown tall. The sun beats down and the days are long. I spend my days working the land and my skin grows freckled and golden in the sunshine. I sometimes return to the glen near the creek, the one where Erik and I last coupled, and I remember being there in the arms of my King.

The seasons start to change. The neighbors gather for the harvest and we throw a feast to honor the gods who bring us more wheat than we need. The orchard behind the stable yields apples that are turned into cider. That cider is then fermented and served in cups hewn from wood. People drink far into the night under the harvest moon and more than one local lass leans towards me, her eyes dark and suggestive. I do not drink. I want to leave, to return to my room, to sit on my bed, pull out my rosewood box that I had brought with me that fated day and run my fingers over its worn surface. I know this would hurt my father so I stay, watching the festivities with practiced numbness.

It is time for me to go. I will leave before the next full moon. The harvest is done, Darkholme is ready for winter. My father does not need my help and I am poor company anyway. It is time for me to ride into the north, to start a new life.

Durwyn journeys to the castle, wanting to go before the weather changes and the snow arrives. He does not ask if I want to accompany him, not even if I want to send a message. The garrisons that Erik had brought with him have been gone from the north for several fortnights now and I am sure Raven is huge with child. I try not think about these things, about everything I have lost. Instead I immerse myself in my studies, making notes about the stars, the cycles of the moon. I gather from the woods around the estate, putting plants into clay pots, seeing how they grow. I sit by my father's hearth and read until my eyes can no longer make out the words on the page. And still, he is there. Erik. In my thoughts, my dreams, my heart.

I prepare to leave. I buy new hose and tunic from a seamstress in the village, a fur-lined mantle, brown, not the sapphire blue of my family. I will keep my broadsword. She is too familiar to give up even though just holding her on my hands makes think of my King. I fill my saddle bags with dried fruits and meat, and I have small bow made, to carry and hunt game with.

My father returns from his journey and I ride out to greet him.

“How was the castle?” I ask, not sure if I really want to know.

“Your sister is heavy with child. She will birth any day now.”

I nod. Raven. The heir. HIS heir.

“And the King?”

I hate myself for even wanting to know, but I find that I am desperate for news of Erik, to know how he is. I am holding my breath, waiting for answer, and maybe my father will tell me that he has asked after me. I do not know why I even bother to hope. I have left all of that behind, have not I? I asked to be let go.

“He is absent, Charles. He rarely emerges from his chambers, and the few times I saw him, he looked wretched.”

Unbidden tears spring to my eyes, and for the one hundredth time I regret asking to be set free of my vow, and I wish I were by his side, even if I knew that would end up destroying me in the end. My Erik, my love. I ache for him all over again, the wound feeling fresh, like he rode away from me just yesterday.

I cannot do this anymore.

“You’re leaving,” Durwyn says, and I nod. If I had any doubts, this solidifies my leaving. I cannot stay, cannot bear being dragged back into this pain again and again.

I ride in the morning, mounting my horse just as the sun is starting to peek over the hills. The world is covered with dew and the birds are just starting to sing. My saddlebags are packed and my bedroll is strapped onto the back of my saddle. The last thing I put into my bags is my rosewood box, and my fingers slip across its smooth wood lid again, and I remember Erik’s face as he handed it to me.

I miss you, my King.

I ride away from Darkholme, away from my father and away from the life I have always known. I ride away from Erik and I ride towards the unknown.

I do not look back.


	2. Part II

I make my new home in a place that lies between kingdoms. It is a savage land, covered in snow and whipped by cold winds during the winter, baked by sun in the summer. At first glance one might think nothing grows there, but they are wrong. Look closer, really take in the land, and you will see life. Plants that cling to rocky soil. Trees that are twisted as they refuse to yield to the elements. It is not a place that anything grows persay but there is much that, like me, survives.

People survive here too. A rough, tribal folk that many would call uncivilized. They have no King. They have no gods. They worship the hard land, mark surviving another year, honor that a child born did not die, celebrate that there will be almost enough food to survive the winter.

I traveled for countless days until I reach this place. I saw more full moons than I could keep track of. I slept on the ground, my cloak wrapped around me to keep out the cold. Some nights I did not sleep, crouched by a small fire, listening to the howls of the wolves around me, hungry for my flesh. My bones grew cold as winter set in. It is a journey that sometimes felt as if it would never end.

I travel north, then further than that, until the landscape changes and the woods disappeared, until the people speak in accents I had never heard of, and looked at me suspiciously until I tell them I am from the south. I travel until no one has ever heard of the Black King or the Kingdom of Lehnshire, or of the knight who killed a dragon.

When I come to the place I now call home, it is after many days of climbing up steep mountains full of perilous cliffs and scrambling over fields of black rock. There is a thin layer of snow on the ground holding promise if yet more to come. I find out later that I have crossed mountains called Myndydd Ddraig Goch: Mountains of the Dragon. Ironic that even now I cannot escape the dragon. And there, in a valley between peaks I come upon a small village, consisting of a scattering of dilapidated buildings sitting on either side of what might be deemed a road, which is in fact only a muddy trail that horses and wagons struggle along. There is an inn there and the rooms are clean, the mead strong. I stop for the night and end up staying longer.

I live just outside of town in a small stone house that had been abandoned two winters before. Whoever had lived there had sucumbed to the bitter cold, or to one of the fevers that steals lives in the middle of the night. After a few cups of mead and some of the Lehnshirian gold I carry with me, the small house becomes mine. I look around, and it is a far cry from the opulence of the castle where I had resided with Erik, and far more lonely than life in the barracks had been, but it is home. Next to the house is a run-down barn that will serve a purpose once I am able to work the land, but right now it makes a good place for my horse. I set about making repairs, because the snow has already arrived and the bitter winds blow through the cracks between the stones and although my mantle is warm, I often wake up shivering with cold in the middle of the night.

I live off the land that winter, hunting game with my small bow, roasting rabbits and mountain gophers over the fire on the hearth of my small house in the valley. When spring comes I will start to work the unforgiving land, digging it up, making it soft. I plant some of the seed I buy from some of the other farmers who sit around roughly hewn wooden tables drinking mead and dreading having to back out in the bitter cold. I will use all the skills Durwyn has taught me to find a way to make a living off this harsh land.

The village is called Cwmsol, which I learn means Valley of the Sun, and on the coldest nights, I hope that it will live up to its name and there might be warm, sunny days to look forward to. The people there have strong accents and their names are strange and guttural to me. They find my name equally amusing and it rolls strangely off their tongues. I soon become Charles Soping: Charles of the south.

I miss Lehnshire. I miss Darkholme and the long stretches of forests that surround my father’s farm. Right now the leaves would be off the branches, carpeting the forest floor, covered with a thin blanket of heavy morning frost. I know there would be signs of life telling me on the darkest days that Winter would be over soon and Spring is just around the corner. I would have nights by the fire and even though the days are short, at Darkholme I would spend them on my horse, wandering where my heart and soul led me. There would be good food and strong ale, sometimes friends singing by the hearth. Here there is nothing, just the endless white of snow with black rocks rising from the whiteness now and then. My days are spent searching for my next meal and my stomach rumbles from lack of food. Too often I wake in the middle of the night, cold and stiff, huddled under my cloak, the fire on my small hearth died down to embers.

Still. I am free.

I dream of Erik. That is something I cannot stop myself from doing after I shut my eyes and my heart takes over. When I first left, I would often wake sobbing in the middle of the night, longing for his touch, filled with regret so deep it ached. I would find myself huddled on the floor of a strange forest where I had stopped to sleep, or jerking awake in the uncomfortable bed of a run-down inn, his name on my lips, reaching to feel his body sleeping next to mine and always devastated when I remembered my circumstances. Those dreams have not left me, but I bear them better now. I have hope that with time they actually might fade and Erik might become something that is finally in my past, but I know that it will probably be many winters before that happens, countless dreams, endless moments of missing him.

The child is probably born by now, and sometimes I picture Raven with a squalling, pink infant nestled her breast, and it is an image that pleases me. I hope that my Queen and my sister has found a way to be happy, a way to leave me behind, and maybe that will be the task of my new kin.

I wish happiness for Erik too, although I cannot stop picturing him as my father described him, weary and reclusive, and I know that he and I have reached a place where neither of us may ever know happiness again. We have dipped our ladles into that pot and drank as much as we will be allowed. Now all I can dream of is enough food to not feel hunger, a roof over my head, maybe a good night at the inn with a travelling storyteller by the fire. I lust for contentment and even that feels so far out of reach from time to time.

The snow starts to melt and the track that runs through Cwmsol goes from frozen back to mud. I trek into the village and for the first time since my arrival, my mantle is a little too warm. I turn my head to the sky that is as clear as the glass I once used to investigate the specimens I collected, and my thoughts turn to warmer weather and the chance to discover what grows around me in this barren land that will come with the melting of the snow. The sun is shining and I smile up into it. I have made it through my first winter alone.

I plant the wheat seed in the spring. I spend my days digging up my field, piling the rocks that I pry from the hard soil. I grow strong and sinewy and although I have never been averse to work, I am pushed to the edge of exhaustion by my labor. I bear the weariness knowing there will be reward. Wheat growing tall and strong. Food for the winter stored in my barn. Maybe enough to trade for a sow of my own and I look forward to meat I do not have to hunt, to eat with hearty brown bread hot from a clay pot on my hearth. Every night that I crawl into my bedroll with my whole body aching is another step beyond survival.

I go from anomaly to part of the community. When I arrive at the inn I am greeted by name by the innkeeper's wife, Eadlin, who often slides a mug of ale my way before I even ask for it along with a thick slice of bread. She tells me of travelers who stop on their way through the perilous Myndydd Ddraig Goch, coming from the south, and maybe I know of them. I smile kindly. There is little chance I would know any traveler, but even if I did, I have left that world behind.

My wheat does grow tall. Summer in Cwmsol brings the searing heat its name promises. I often work my farm wearing nothing more than my trousers, my tunic discarded, my body soaked in the sweat of exertion. I spend my days bringing water from the creek that runs through the valley where my farm is situationed, keeping my plants alive. I still manage to find time to explore and when all my chores are done and I know my crops will not wither in the hot sun, I saddle up my horse and ride through the valley, climb up into the mountains, gather things to bring home with me. When I return home, I pull out my rosewood box, and every time I touch it, I remember him. I run my fingers over its smooth surface, the gold still shining warmly. It is the most treasured of my possessions. I slide it open with reverence and glance at its content. It contains what I have left of my former home. Dried plants from Darkholme, the moss I had found on that day in the woods with Raven. A brilliant blue rock I had found riding with Erik one day while we toured the bergs of the North. I add my new finds into an open compartment. I can let everything else go, leave my father behind, leave my lover and my vow of loyalty, but these treasures I keep. These are the only memories that I allow myself, small things to pick up and feel in my hands, to turn over and over. There are other memories, the unbidden ones that haunt me, but here in my box are the things that do not hurt.

The people in the village start to talk of winter, and that is how I know the seasons are about to change. Soon the nights will grow cooler and the sun will start to dip out of the sky earlier. I do not look forward to long nights and short days, but this time I am more prepared. My stores are full. I have smoked meat so I do not have to hunt every day. I have even managed to grow some root vegetables that are now stored away for when there is little else but bread to eat. I have convinced Eadlin to take some of my gold in exchange for tallow and I have bought a small clay lamp along with some heavy woolen leggings from a peddler passing through.

“You should take a wife,” Eadlin says one day as I sit sipping my ale, “I have a couple nice, robust daughters you might take interest in.”

I smile at her. She is kind to think of me but I will never have a wife. I tip my cup back and drain the rest of the ale down my throat, welcoming its bitter taste.

“I loved someone once, Eadlin,” I say, careful with the truth, sounding a bit wistful. “So much that it almost killed me. I will never love someone again, so I am afraid my fate is to be alone.”

“So you never long for a nice warm bosom on a cold winters night?”

I hold back a small laugh. I do long for a body next to me to keep me warm, a strong arm around my waist, holding me against his chest, the feel of his cock hardening against my ass. Yes, I long for someone, but not who Eadlin thinks. I only long for Erik, and I know that my longing may fade but it will never leave me.

“No, I do not.” I say then motion for more of Eadlin’s delicious ale. I eat some of the stew she places in front of me and think about the long walk back to my farm in the dimming light.

“Oh,” Eadlin says, turning to look at me, “Someone was here earlier asking after you, Charles.”

 This catches my attention.

“Who?” I ask as I sup down another bite of stew.

“Didn’t leave a name, but was a southerner. Had an accent like yours.”

I wonder if it might be news from home. Something about Darkholme, maybe Durwyn.

“I told him to piss off, bit my thumb at him and sent him on his way.”

I smile. These wildlings do not have manners anyone from Lehnshire would be accustomed to.

It is been over a year since I left. As I walk back from the inn, my belly full and the ale buzzing in my veins, I am proud that I able to mark this occasion with ale and food and the companionship of the people who inhabit my new home.

The wind is picking up as I walk across the rough ground and shiver. It is the first night it has actually felt cold and I gaze up into the sky to see that the moon is high. It is a harvest moon and I remember being at Darkholme, celebrating our bounty. I feel tears prick my eyes but I wipe them away. I am content. It is all I asked for when I left. I do not want love. I do not want riches. I have already had glory and it left a bitter taste in my mouth. All I want right now is what I already have. A roof, a warm hearth, my books and my freedom. I think of Erik and thank him silently for giving this to me. I thank him for letting me go.

I pick up my lamp that is sitting on a rough table I made from one of the scraggly trees I took from a small copse further down the valley and I light it. Then I make a fire on my hearth and settle onto my bedroll, pulling out one of my books. The wind moans outside, a haunting sound, but I have filled in all the chinks in the walls of my house, the fire on the hearth is putting out just the right amount of heat, and soon I find that my eyelids are drooping. Not much longer and I will nod to sleep. My head nods, my chin dips towards my chest, and I jerk awake. I go to snuff out my lamp and am about to crawl into my bed when there is a sharp sound at my door.

At first I think it must be a trick of the wind, or maybe something has blow loose and hit upon my door. Perhaps I imagined it, or maybe it is the noise of mountain spirits come to haunt me. I sit frozen, staring at the door, trying to make sense of the sound, when it comes again. A sharp rapping, and this time there is no mistake. There is someone outside my door.

My broadsword lies in the corner and I crawl over to grab her, hoisting her and feeling her weight in my hands. Everytime I hold my sword I am reminded of my old life, of what it felt like to wear armor, to fight for my kingdom. Sometimes holding her makes me miss Lehnshire so much I can almost taste my regret. Tonight she is just my old, comfortable friend. I balance her weight in my hands and walk slowly towards the door.

“Who goes there?” I shout, but my voice is lost underneath a loud gust of wind. I take hold of the door, open it, and there is indeed someone on the other side. A tall figure with the hood of his mantle pulled over his head and his face shadowed. Even without being able to fully see his features, I know immediately who is standing in my doorway, framed by darkness. I would know him anywhere. I fall to one knee and bow my head, resting my forehead on my sword, staring at the dirt floor of my small home. My eyes are stinging with tears.

“King Erik,” I gasp, and his name sounds strange on my lips, I have not said it outloud for so long, “My Liege.”

“Charles,” Erik gasps, and his voice is raw. I cannot look up. If I stay like this, staring at the ground, I can keep the pain at bay. “Finally. I found you.”

We stay like that for what feels like an eternity, until the wind fills my house and threatens to put out the fire on my hearth. I feel my arms and legs becoming increasingly chilled. Finally Erik reaches out and touches me, and his touch sends a deep shiver through my body like nothing I have ever felt before. A year. Longer since we said goodbye. Longer since his fingers have touched me, and now they settle gently on my tunic, resting as light as a feather on the curve of my shoulder. I barely managed to remain still, head bowed in obedience to my King.

“Charles,” Erik says again, and this time his voice is softer, but still raw and the way he says my name...my Liege sounds broken. “Please stand. Oh gods, you must stand. Do not kneel before me. You do not owe this to me. I do not deserve it.”

“My Liege,” I say again, and those are the only words I can manage as I ignore his plea and continue to kneel before him.

“Your Erik,” the man standing in the doorway says in a desperate and insistent tone. “I am no longer your King. I am nobody’s King. I am just your Erik.”

I finally manage to tear my gaze from the floor and glance up into those familiar ice-blue eyes. What I see makes my heart skip a beat. He looks older and tired, lines around his mouth. He is thinner and as his eyes gaze at me brightly, I can see that they hold a haunted look that was never there before. Still, he is my Erik. I can see him in all his incarnations, from the proud ruling King of my country greeting the Dragonslayer for the first time to my lover stretched out on my bed, crying out my name as he comes undone. He is different but he is still the same man I fell in love with.

“Erik,” I say quietly, lapsing into using his given name like I had so many times in the privacy of my chambers. Erik huffs out a sigh of relief and in one quick movement he sinks to his knees in front of me, his hands going to my shoulders, gripping them.

“I abdicated the throne, Charles.” Erik says, still searching my face. “I am no longer King. I am nobody, except that I am and will always be yours.”

“You came to find me,” I say, and a strange sense of wonder starts to grow in my breast. “You asked at the inn. That was you.”

Erik smiles and his smile is so familiar and so missed that it hurts.

“The innkeeper's wife is charming." He says with a raised eyebrow, "I had heard you were here, so when she refused to tell me, I decided to start searching the farms in your area. This was the last house I was going to try before finding some shelter for the night.”

“Erik,” I say again, and this time I say his name with an edge of joy. He has found me. He said he would, and here he is. He has left everything behind. His kingdom. His queen. His child….

His child. I grow cold.

“What of your child? What of your heir?” I ask, searching his eyes. I left before there was news of a royal birth. Did the child even live? Is Erik here with me because his heir did not survive? Erik looks at me for a long while then he speaks, his words measured.

“A boy, Charles. Cyneric. He is lovely. Growing. Strong. He has these eyes. Blue like the sea.” Erik blinks then looks away from me, towards the hearth that has now turned to embers. He stands up and I remain down on one knee but my eyes follow him, watching Erik carefully, wondering what he is about to say as he stares down at the dying fire.

“I know what the sea looks like, Charles. I rode there once in my youth, stood high on a cliff as waves crashed against them. I must have stood there for hours, looking out over that vastness that goes on as far as you can see. It is breathtaking. I have seen that same blue in Cyneric’s eyes, and I have seen those same eyes before.”

Erik turns to look at me and I am struck by the sadness that is now on his face.

“They are your eyes. Yours, Charles. You have a son.”

With these words I quickly rise from where I have been kneeling. I cannot breathe. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut tight, wanting to push away what Erik is saying. I see my family, torn from me as a creek swollen with spring rains washes them away, and all I can do is cling to the branch my hands happen to catch. I am the last of the Xaviers, and even then, I am Xavier in blood only, since I have grown up under the care of Durwynn, who I could love no less if he were my own father. I might as well be a Darkholme. I gave up my lineage. I became a knight who would never marry. I fell in love with a king and let go of my line ever being continued, knowing that I will never be able to love any woman like I love him. And now he kneels before me, telling me he has given up his kingdom for me, and tells me that I have a son.

Words fail me. One time with Raven, my sister who loves me as strongly as I love Erik, one moment that I have pushed aside, left behind like everything else, and now Erik tells me from that I have a son.

"He is your heir..." I somehow manage to say, although I am not entirely sure how I get the words out.

"Yes, my heir, but your bastard." Erik says, and his face bears this look that I cannot quite read, but I know it has to do with the fact that Erik knows that I fucked Raven, and the proof is her bastard son who will inherit his kingdom.

I have a son.

“I came to tell you this,” Erik continues, and now I see the look on his face shift into pain. “I wanted you to know, to have a choice. He is your son, your blood. I wanted you to be able to choose to return to him.”

“And if I do?” I ask, “If I choose to return?”

“Then the Lehnsherr’s will no longer be the rulers of the kingdom. There will be no one left, and there will be a war over the throne. Right now Raven is Queen Regent, and when Cyneric is old enough, he will sit on the throne as my son, and even though he does not share my blood, he will continue my name. But this decision is not mine to make. It is yours, which is why I sought you out.”

“Why, Erik?” I ask, still trying to digest this information. “Why not just fuck Raven, get a real heir and denounce my son?”

Erik huffs out a soft laugh. “I am simply not that cunning. Plus, Raven will have nothing to do with me. In all fairness,I also want nothing to do with her. I do not want to be King, Charles. Even if you return to Lehnshire, claim Cyneric as your own, I will not come with you. I will not return to the throne. I have made my decision. It was made the day I set you free of your vow. It was realizing that the boy was never mine in the first place that gave me the push I needed to abdicate.”

“But, you are his father,” I say, thinking of Durwyn and how he has cared for me despite me not being his own blood.

Erik laughs again, a small, wry sound.

“The boy has no father, Charles, except for you. Raven has probably known since he was in utero that he was not mine. She would not let me touch her during the entire pregnancy. She keeps Cyneric by her side morning and night. The servants speak of the wonderful bond between mother and son, but I know the reason she keeps him from me is that I am not his father and she will not let me forget that.”

My heart aches for my sister. I know how much she loves me. I know that she will always love me, and now she clings to the only thing I was able to give her, and even that was not ever my intention. It was one night. One moment of weakness, of pity, and out if that she received the gift of my child.

“She loves you, Charles.” Erik says softly then lets out a contemplative sigh, “Ah, Raven. We have so much in common. We both would give up everything for you. She married someone she didn’t love just to be able to have you. And I...I…”

Erik’s voice trails off.

“...you gave up a kingdom.” I finish for him.

Erik grabs the stick I keep leaning by the wall as a fire poker then goes to squat by the hearth. He moves the embers around, then blows on them softly, and I watch as a flame flickers up from the dying coals.

“Forgive me, I have almost let your fire go out,” Erik murmurs, and it is odd and out of context, but I feel the same need for distraction from all of this information that now sits on my shoulders, weighing me down. He stands up, putting the stick back, then smooths his hands over his woollen hose. I watch him, absorbing the fact that Erik is standing in front of me, and My hands follow his hands as they stroke down his thighs.

“I will go,” Eriks says quietly. I realize that he did not come here for a reunion. He came to clear himself of his sins, to deliver the truth, and he will not ask anything else of me. Not even a roof for the night and a warm fire.

“Erik,” I do not mean to, but I hear myself say his given name, my voice low and gravelly. I say the one thing I should probably not, “Stay.”

“Charles,” he says, looking at me, his hands going to hang at his sides. “I cannot accept your hospitality. That is not what I came for.”

“I have bread. I have a roof. I am still not entirely convinced you’re real and not a vision come to torment me. Stay, Erik. I have missed you. All of you, and if the only thing I can have is you in my home for one night, sharing my food, that is what I will take.”

Erik’s shoulders sag and his entire visage floods with relief. He takes in a deep, shaking breath, and then he says my name with such love, such reverence, that it shakes me to my core. I do not know what I will do. I have a son. I must make a decision. But for just tonight, I have Erik one more time. I step towards him, reaching my hands out and I notice they are trembling. My fingers go to pluck at his mantle and I smile a little when I see that although his clothes are as common as my own, he still wears Lehnsherr black. I move my hands to his chest, placing my palms flat against it, feeling the heat of his body through his woolen winter tunic, and he is solid and real. So real that I want to sob. Erik does not move as I do this. He stands still, and I am not even sure if he is breathing. I slide my palms down his chest to rest my hands on his waist, and he shivers under the pressure of my hands. He is more slender than I remember. I am not thinking about the pleasures of the flesh as I touch Erik. I am just revelling in the fact that my hands are able to touch the man I thought I would never touch again, savoring the solid feel of his body under my hands. I move forward, sliding my hands to wrap around his back and then I pull him to me, pressing myself entirely against him. Erik remains silent until this moment and as I hold him even tighter, my name rips out of him and he is half-sobbing it as he bends his face down and buries it in my hair.

My Erik. If this is all I can have, this is enough. More than enough. Holding him in my arms again is everything.

We do not fuck. There is no place here for bawdy pleasures. We eat some bread, drink some mead, then sit together on my bed, side by side, our fingers intertwined, watching the hearth until the embers die, listening to the wind outside as it screeches through the valley. I can hear my horse’s panicked whinny during those brief moments when the wind dies down for short periods of time. The weather is as tumultuous as my soul.

We finally sleep. Erik goes to retrieve his bedroll and I refuse to release his hand, pulling him back down to me.

“Stay with me,” I slur tiredly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with weariness. Erik nods and moves so I can stretch out on my side. He then lies down next to me and our arms go around each other. I pull the furs that I use to keep warm over both of us and we cling to together. I nuzzle into Erik’s shoulder, my nose pressed against the wool of his tunic, inhaling his scent. I close my eyes and slowly drift into the deepest sleep I have had since I left Darkholme. Just as the darkness is about to claim me, I feel the whisper light touch of Erik’s lips on my forehead, and it is the first time he has kissed me since the day he learned that Raven was pregnant. I sigh a little and nestle closer, content to be in the arms of my lover once more.

My love. My Erik.

I wake with the sun, which is my custom and I am warm and languid, with Erik wrapped around my back, a sleep-heavy arm slung around my waist. Oh gods, I have missed the simple pleasure of waking in his arms more than almost anything else. I close my eyes and savor the feel of him against me.

It is only a brief respite from the events of the prior night because before I can stop them all of my worries start to leak back into my head. I have a decision to make, and lying in Erik’s arms is not helping me gain any clarity. It makes everything harder to see clearly. Slowly I shift my body until I am lying on my back in an attempt to extract myself, but that causes Erik to mumble a little in his sleep and settle more against me. Maybe I should not tempt fate at this moment because the air outside my bed is cool and Erik remains so warm and comfortable. Maybe I can push away these things, lie here and pretend that I am not standing at the edge of the unknown. I close my eyes again, take in a deep breath, savor the musky scent of Erik sleeping next to me. Oh gods, I have missed him more than I realized.

I stay that like for a long time, but I cannot sleep. My mind is awake and alive with thought. After a bit, I shift again, and make a second attempt to extract myself, and again I disturb Erik. This time he does not shift closer, but he moans a little, mumbles my name, and before I know what is happening, he is nuzzling into my neck and I let out a little gasp as he starts sleepily mouthing the skin there, his tongue flicking out, tasting me. I let out a groan because despite the fact that I know this should not happen, my body does not - it craves this touch and responds immediately. My muscles clench and a deep shiver runs through me and the want I feel is sharp and palpable. One touch and I am shaken to my core.

"Erik!" His name is a strangled croak and I feel Erik jolt against me and he lets out a deep, gutteral groan that sounds a little like my name.

"I want..." Erik whispers against my skin. He does not say more because I am pushing at him, scrambling to get away, and once I am able to stand, I stare down at him, breathing as if I have run a race.

There is no way for me to describe how much I want this man. My desire to have him, for him to have me, is fathomless. It consumes every part of me. If I give into it now, I not be able to make the best decision. Leaving Erik will not be an option.

"I will ride today," I manage to croak out. Erik nods. I will ride up into the peaks Myndydd Ddraig Goch, the only place I think I can find enough peace to get answers. Just as the forests of Lehnshire called to me, here, in the place that has become home, I hear the strong voice of the mountains calling me into their deep valleys and majestic pinnacles.

Erik nods but says nothing, and I am grateful because if he were to just ask me to stay, I would. I would run to him, sink into his arms, beg him to take me now. Instead I turn and walk out the door towards the barn to saddle up my horse. I return to fetch my cloak and find Erik crouched by the fire, staring at my rosewood box that he holds in his large square hands.

"You still have this," Erik says when I come to stand next to him. His eyes meet mine and my heart skips a beat.

"It is most precious of my possessions." I say. It is the one thing I would die for. This box that holds my heart.

Erik reaches and takes my hand in his then, with a sob, he presses a kiss to its back, his lips lingering.

"Return to me, my love," he whispers against my skin.

“I will,” I answer back, and I speak the truth. I will return to him. Maybe just for today, maybe forever.

I ride out of the valley and towards the trail that will lead me upwards. I urge my horse as we start to climb the narrow trail that runs along cliffs, always gaining in elevation. My horse’s hooves scrabble on loose rock in some places and I can tell she is nervous about the path I have chosen for us. I still push her to keep going. Finally, the trail disappears and we are in the middle of a large field of rock and scraggly bushes that are fighting to survive at this altitude. I dismount and tie my horse to the one lone tree I can find in this wasteland. Then I set off on foot. In front of me a majestic peak rises and I want to reach the top.

I climb, higher and higher. I am sweating, breathing hard, my feet scrambling to find footing, my muscles ache from exertion. Finally I reach the top and I stand on what feels like the edge of the world. The mountains stretch out around me, deep shades of blue and some of the taller peaks are already tinged with white. Below me is a desolate, harsh world of stone and it looks like nothing could survive there, but I know differently. It is here that I can finally let go of everything I have been holding back, and I spread out my arms, throw back my head and let out a long, despondent howl filled with woe.

I am calling to someone, to the gods, to mother earth, to anyone who will listen. Take my pain from me.

I stand there for what feels like a lifetime. Is this how Erik felt as he stood above the sea and all of her vastness? I feel like the world is neverending and I am one speck of inconsequential dust. I am nothing. I always have been. I slowly let my arms fall to my side and I sink to the ground, and then the tears come, hot on my face, my lips tasting of salt. I sob for all I have lost and all I have gained, and all I may lose again.

I have a son. A boy who could carry my name and legacy. He belongs to my sister. He kindles her heart as Erik kindles mine.

And there is Erik who has given up an entire life for me. He has searched until he found me. I am not whole without him, but I am still alive. Can I walk away a second time? Would I survive that?

I have a life here in the mountains, a house, a small farm.

If I return, I could see my father again, roam the hills and hollows of my childhood home once more.

Every answer I can think of ends in loss.

I picture of Erik, stretched out in my bed last night, and that whisper of a kiss on my forehead plays over and over in my mind, and I want so much more from him. I want forever. I want days and nights, summers and winters, to grow old together. Am I allowed to want these things?

There is the kingdom. If the King’s son is deemed a bastard, there will be war. There will be death. If he remains the heir, the Lehnsherr lines continues as a lie.

The light grows dim and I know if I do not start towards home I will end up in the mountains after sunset, and that is a dangerous place to be. As I start to climb back down the rocky trail towards where my horse is tethered, I am struck by the fact that I still have no answer.

The sky is almost pitch black by the time I reach my little house. I see there is smoke rising from the chimney. I take my horse to the barn and apologize to her for riding her so hard, promising her one of my precious carrots as a reward, but it will have to be tomorrow. I have other things to tend to. I walk towards my cottage, by body weighed down by weariness that has nothing to do with the day’s exertion. There is a great heaviness in my chest. I am returning but I still have no answer.

I push open the door to find Erik pulling something from the fire. He looks up at me and smiles. It is genuine and full of love, and it fills up his whole face. I stare at him, at the man I have loved so much that sometimes I thought it might destroy me. I take in the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, his hands gripping the fire poker, his fingers long and slim. He looks weary, as weary as I feel. But more than anything, he looks like home.

I have told myself that this stone hut in the mountains is my new home. As I look at Erik, I realize that it is just a roof and walls, a place to take shelter, but it is not a home. Not until now, with Erik crouched by the hearth, greeting me as I come through the door. For the first time since I left Darkholme, I feel that keen sense of belonging that comes with a place a person can call a true home. I have only ever felt this at my father’s house. Not at the castle. Not in the barracks. At Darkholme, and now here. It is that moment, me standing in the doorway, Erik looking at me with that small smile and soft eyes that welcome me that I finally know what I must do. What I have been destined to do all this time. I push the door shut behind me, shutting out the darkness of the night and move towards the light of the fire, towards Erik.

“Charles?” Erik asks, and I know what his question is. I blink away the tears that have sprung up in my eyes, the eyes Erik tells me are blue as the sea, the same eyes of the son that I will never know. Just like Erik standing at the edge of the ocean, I have stood at the edge of the world today and everything has come down to one small point, one speck of dust. Everything has come down to one man.

Erik.

“My place is with you," I say quietly. Erik’s eyes grow wide with understanding but he does not move from where he is crouched. The fire flickers, filling my small home with light, but nothing is as bright as the light I see start to glow in my King’s eyes.

“Charles,” Erik says, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“Erik, my love,” I manage to say, despite my dry mouth and thick tongue, “I do not know how I could leave you again. My heart could not bear that pain.”

Erik squeezes his eyes shut and I see his chest rise, hear the hitch of his breath. He opens them again, looking at me with so much love it hurts and I want to look away.

“My Charles.”

Erik crosses the room in one swift movement and his hands move to grip my arms. The moment he touches me I begin to shake uncontrollably. I am such a mass of emotions I can barely think, barely speak. I want everything all at once. Yet I want nothing because I want this moment to last an eternity, and I could stay here like this, just the touch of Erik’s hands on my arms, forever. Erik seems to be in a similar state, gripping me desperately.

I have lived for others most of my life and I had only started to live by what I wanted when Erik set me free of my vow. Now he has come to me, offered himself to me. I am selfish. I am greedy, like a child set in front of an entire cake. There are so many choices but in the end what I choose is only for myself. Gods help me, I cannot help but reach out and take what is so freely offered and I know once I start taking, I will never stop. I will not return to Lehnshire. I will not claim my son. I will stay here with this man forever.

“Erik,” I managed to gasp, and his name is a prayer on my lips, for this man is my religion. He is my blessing, my salvation, and I will forsake all other things in this world for him. I know this now. Erik lets out a long, guttural moan and I am grateful for what happens next, because I do not think I would have been able to do more than stand there, frozen, Erik's hands warm on my arms, the only thing that grounds me as I am battered by the maelstrom of my emotions.

He kisses me. Oh gods, he pulls me towards him, places his mouth on mine and kisses me. It is not what I expected. Everything about Erik screams of desperation, but the touch of his lips on mine is surprisingly tentative, as if he needs to ask for permission, as if me standing in front of him entirely undone and telling him I am his forever is not quite enough. He still needs to know if this is real or not. My hands wind around his waist and I pull him against me so there is almost no space between us. I kiss Erik back with ferocity, and Erik responds in kind. We crash together, deprived of this for so long neither of us can get enough. His mouth on mine, those longed-for kisses that have haunted my dreams, it is all so intense that I find that I am sobbing between kisses. I need him - all of him - with a desperation I have never experienced in my entire life.

We say nothing to each other. There are no words that will suffice. I cannot even say Erik’s name, although my mind repeats it over and over. We kiss, then kiss again. My lips feel bruised, but I cannot stop. I want so much. The room is spinning and I cling to Erik, my hands fisting in his tunic. Erik is pushing at my cloak but his lips never leave mine except to take a breath. I loose one hand and reach to help him untie it, and it tumbles to the floor. Now Erik pulls back, touches his forehead to mine as we both breathe heavily, and I whimper at the loss of his lips on mine. I squeeze my eyes shut and we stand pressed together, breathing in time.

“I need...I cannot...Charles...” Erik pants, the words sounding thick and choked. I know what he is trying to say. I know what he needs. I open my eyes and glance down to see that his hands are shaking. I pull back slightly and Erik watches me with hot eyes as I reach my own hands up to the tie on my tunic, undoing it. I grasp the hem and start to pull it up, over my shoulders, over my head, and then I shrug out of it. I am flushed and heated, and the cool air of the room feels sharp on my skin. I remove my shoes then unfasten my leggings and pull them down, kicking them away from me. I straighten and look Erik in the eye. I am stand in front of him, naked and wanting, and I hear Erik’s sharp intake of breath. I reach out a hand, willing it to be steady, because everything about me feels like it is going to fly apart. Somehow I manage to loosen ties and straps, pull off woolen cloth, until I have Erik naked as well.

“My King,” I say, almost to myself. I regret this because Erik winces and turns his head away. Before he can remind me that he is not my King, will never be my King again, I reach out a hand, touch my fingers to his jaw and turn his face back to me, “King of my heart. Forever.”

“Charles,” Erik whispers, sounding entirely wrecked. My eyes move from his face, down his chest to his groin where his cock is standing erect, flushed, surrounded by those curls that I long to bury my nose in so I can again inhale his scent. I have missed him. I do not know if the ache of missing him will ever leave me. My gaze returns to Erik’s face and I have never seen someone look to utterly wretched, so entirely in pain.

Suddenly Erik reaches for me with a groan and he is pulling me even tighter against him. His arms slide around my back, crushing me against him. His mouth captures mine and his kiss is rough, insistent and like nothing I have ever experience. I am so aroused, so aching for release, I almost want to laugh against his lips because the feeling is wonderful and awful at the same time. If I cannot get some release at this very moment I might die. We sink to our knees together, and my hands go to press flat against Erik’s chest, pushing him backwards until he tumbles onto his back, and he ends up half lying on my bed roll, half off. He splays his legs and I crawl up between them, then I grind my hips down and our cocks meet.

“Charles!” He cries out, his head tilting back and I am sorry that I cannot find his lips with mine without losing that contact, so instead I mouth along the column of his neck that he has exposed to me. I am supporting myself with shaking arms as I grind down again and again, my hips finding a quick, desperate rhythm, and the sensation is like nothing I have ever known. With every surge of my hips, Erik arches up and the way our bodies come together over and over sends sparks of electricity through me. All those times in my bed, Erik against me, fucking me, inside me, sucking on my cock, none of them have been like this. I am panting like I have been running through the forest. I hang my head down and sweat drips off me from exertion, and look at the junction of our bodies, the way we move against each other. Erik’s fingers dig into my hips and his feet are braced on the dirt floor as he pushes himself up to meet my thrusts.

I sing his name, over and over, savoring the way it rolls off my tongue. Erik, my love. Erik, my heart. I lift my head and our eyes meet: ice blue and the sea, unfocused, pupils blown. I want to stare into his face forever, to watch him as he gives into the bliss that we are both standing right at the edge of, almost ready to tip into it. I move faster, harder, my hips jerking, and then I feel that far away tingle that says there is no turning back now. Oh, gods, heavens above, this is it. Even before my body responds, my brain gives a sigh of relief in anticipation of letting go, my eyes close as the sensation builds. My breath hitches a little, my toes curl and I come.

My mind goes blank and my whole body shakes and clenches with pleasure like I have never known as seed pulses from my cock. It is the little death, a moment of blackness that consumes me, and I call out his name. My love.

“Erik!”

“Charles. Oh Charles,” Erik is clinging to me as he follows me into the abyss, arms going from my hips to wrap around my back, pulling me close as he bucks againsts me and I feel his release, hot and sticky, against my thigh. My arms cannot hold me up any longer and I collapse against him, burying my face in his neck, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest against mine. I cannot move. I have no feeling left in my body; I can do nothing but rest my full weight against Erik and try to catch my breath.

“Gods,” Erik says softly in my ear, “I have missed this. Missed you.”

I move my head a little and place a small, soft kiss at the base of his neck, tasting the salt of tears and sweat, then I raise my head and look into Erik’s eyes. There is no going back now and my eyes begin to flood with tears. I am overcome with everything, with feeling Erik against me again, with him being here with me, with him giving up everything for me. I sink my head back into his shoulder and I sob, great wracking sounds that are ripped from my body, and Erik’s arms hold me tighter as he whispers promises of forever against my skin.

Somehow we sleep, crawling to the bed, pulling the coverlet and furs over us. Part of me thinks our reunion should last longer, but I am so weary that I can feel it down to my bones. I did not realize until this moment how much I have been carrying with me, how much I have missed Erik, and now that he is finally here in my arms, everything I have been holding back crashes down on me. I am heavy with exhaustion.

“Sleep,” Erik whispers, his lips kissing the shell of my ear. “I’ll be here when you wake. We have time, Charles. We have time.”

I manage a small smile as I nestle into Erik’s arms. I have been given a gift more precious than any jewel, any gold. It is more than I could have ever asked for. I have been given back the piece of my heart I left back in Lehnshire when I rode away. This means I will never return to my home. I will never see my son. But I will wake up with Erik tomorrow and every day after that. And I will fall asleep in his arms. I have made my decision and I have chosen him. Any other choice would feel like death.

As I finally start to drift off to sleep, the last thing I think about is the dragon, the great she-beast who only wanted to protect her young, and how she has haunted me since that fated day. Some might called me blessed to have her blood on my hands. I have always felt it was luck that caused my broadsword to meet her jugular. Now I know that it was destiny, but not the kind of destiny that is put into sonnets and songs about a great warrior. I was not destined to become the Dragonslayer that they tell tales about. I was destined to be right where I am, a small cottage in a desolate valley, my lover’s arms around me, both of our lifetimes stretching out before us.


	3. Epilogue

Today, the love of my life dies. Today, I die too.

 

* * *

 

“Drink, my love?”

“Please,” Erik whispers, his voice dry and cracking. He sounds parched and I curse the people here for denying him the basic things he needs, like water.

I am crouched on the flagstones, cold and damp. My muscles ache from staying in that position for so long. I shiver a bit. I hold out the skein I had filled from one of the castle’s wells and Erik’s hand comes through the bars to grasp it. I see that his hand his shaking a little, dirt caked under his fingernails and I feel physical pain to see the man I love like this.

“I am so sorry,” I say quietly, “I never should have returned. Even if it meant not seeing Durwyn. We should have stayed in Cwmsol. It was not worth it. Was not worth this.”

“Charles,” Erik says, wiping his mouth and his lips are cracked and bleeding. I hate the way he says my name, as if it might be the last time, and I close my eyes briefly.

The dungeons are quiet except for the dripping of water from somewhere, and it is a testament to the King, Cyneric, the Fair Sun. Unlike the Lehnsherr’s of the past, Cyneric does not fill his dungeons. There is only one prisoner here. Only Erik.

Cyneric Lehnsherr ascended the throne the winter he turned fifteen. He will become one of the greatest kings Lehnshire has ever seen. There will be legends written of his greatness, the king with eyes the same color as the sea and hair the color of burnished gold. The fatherless boy-king.

I am only allowed to see Erik because I am the Dragonslayer. After all these years, there are a few who still care that I killed the she-beast, and that buys me access. I come as often as I can. I crouch next to the cell where Erik is chained, give him water and bread, touch his hand with mine, remind him that I am still here.

“I do not want to leave you, my love,” Erik sobs. I grip his hand, and it is so cold. I have asked. I have begged. Cannot they spare him even a thin blanket? Something that might give a little warmth? No. Nothing will be given to the traitor, the King who gave up his throne. It seems there is one thing that King Cyneric the Fair Sun will not be fair about. He is determined to kill the man who abandoned him. He is determined to kill the man I love.

“Erik,” I whisper, holding onto his hand tightly, tears wetting my cheeks, “if this is all we get. If this is the end for you and me, I will take it. I have already gotten more than I ever asked for.”

What I do not tell him is that if he dies, I will too. I know that with a certainly that settles deep into my bones. I cannot live without him and it will not be long after his last breath that I join him.

“Is today the day?” He asks.

I cannot answer right away. I cannot find the words. Today is the day the love of my life dies. The day we both die, but I will not leave this earth until he does. The last thing he sees will be my eyes, full of love. I want him to know that he is loved until his very last breath.

“Yes,” I whisper. “Today is the day.”

 

* * *

 

_Six weeks prior..._

Over the years I have learned to live with my ghosts. They are mine, even if they are sometimes unbearable; if I feel my grief might overwhelm me. Sometimes I wake, reaching for Erik and if he is not there I cannot stop the panic that wells up, the sobs that choke me, and I am overwhelmed by all I have lost. That is when Erik rushes to my side, wraps his arms around me, holds me to keep me from being washed away by my melancholy. I have scars that will never fully disappear. We both do.

I think of Raven now and then. Sometimes I even miss her. I miss the sister I grew up with - the one who would tromp through the woods with me, her longbow across her back, singing bawdy tavern tunes she knew father would frown upon. With time I have come to see that Raven was trying her best to do what she felt was right, and that she had acted out of selfishness, out of her need for me. She also acted out of love. I, of all people, understand what it feels to love someone beyond reason, how that changes your soul.

Erik and I make a home together. We work the land, plant crops, and have several fine sows. We spend evenings at the inn, sitting at the hearth with cups of mead, talking with the valley folk about preparations for the coming winter, how high our wheat grows, whether or not we will breed our sows. Our bodies grow sinewy, our faces weathered and lined by sun. My hair starts to have thick streaks of gray springing from my temple, and I see that Erik's temples are peppered with gray as well. Time marks us. I kiss the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and call him my grizzled Liege, making Erik laugh. I love the sound of his laugh.

I wake in the arms of my beloved every morning, and I will never cease to cherish the feel of them around me. We fuck, taking pleasure in each other's bodies time and time again, and touching Erik, his smell, his taste, the way he whispers my name as he comes, is forever tinged with what I almost lost.

One day riders from the south come looking for me again and Eadlin is as unwelcoming as ever, biting her thumb at them and telling them to piss off. I walk into the inn just as they are leaving and overhear them saying my name to each other. Ser Charles Xavier. I have not heard that name in so long that it startles me. I am used to being Charles Soping.

"I am he," I say to one of the riders, who turns to look at me and I see that he is dressed in Lehnshirian garb that bears the King's crest.

"You are the Dragonslayer?"

I wince at the title I left behind and I see Eadin’s face fill with curiosity as she watches us. "Yes," I say. "I am the Dragonslayer.” The riders fall to their knees in deference and I stand before them awkwardly then tell them that here in Cwmsol we do not stand on ceremony and no one kneels to another, and I bid them to please rise. They might as well kneel to a beggar on the street because in my mountain home I am no more or less important than any other person. This is not Lehnshire.

One of the men hands me a rolled up parchment. I unroll it and scan the words and as I read, I grow cold .

Durwyn is on his death bed.

Erik and I will ride south. I would beg Erik to let me go without him, leaving him in the safety of our home and Cwmsol, but I know he will refuse to let me travel alone. We pack provisions and Eadlin promises one of her grandsons will look after our farm. I tell her she is a good friend and that we should be back well before the first snow. The Lehnshirian riders offer to escort me but I tell them I have adequate protection and send them on their way. I do not look forward to the looks I will get if they realize that the Dragonslayer rides with the former King. I also want to keep Erik for myself as long as possible. I do not know what we will face when we reach Darkholme. I try not to think too much about such things. Two days after learning that my father will die, we set out before the sun rises, the ground wet with dew, both of us wrapped in our warmest cloaks. We ride away from our home in silence, our horses walking lazily as we guide them southward in the dawn’s gray light.

I have not been south since I left Erik and Darkholme. As we get further and further away from Myndydd Ddraig Goch the landscape grows more familiar, and we start to ride in and out of forests, a canopy of leaves giving us shelter, and I feel my heart soar.

“You have missed this,” Erik says as we ride alongside each other on one of the many days our journey will take. While I have grown to love my mountain home, he is right. My heart will always long for the land of my youth, for the country I have left behind. Maybe not the people, but its woods, rivers and streams.

“I have,” I say, looking over at him. Erik looks at home in the saddle, long and lean, his weathered hands gripping the reins, his eyes soft and full of love. My breath catches and I want him. I miss our shared bed to the point that it is almost palpable. How I can still long for this man with unwavering ferocity after all this time, I do not know. There are some things that remain a mystery in this world, and the most mysterious might be the affairs of the heart and the call of the body.

We crouch by our fire at night and I tell Erik of my worries: that Durwyn will leave this earth before I can reach his bedside. That my sister will be there. That I will finally meet my son who is not my son. Still, nothing will keep me from trying to see my father one more time.

“You will be strong, Charles,” Erik tells me, “You always have been. You were strong enough to ask to be set free. Strong enough to build a life for yourself. I know the weight you have born all these years. You will bear this with the same strength. The strength that you used to slay that dragon that started this all.”

“Oh Erik,” I sigh, because I know he is aware how I feel about the dragon.

“I am sorry, Charles. I know you say you had nothing to do with that, but you are the strongest person I know. If there was a knight whose stroke would slay the she-beast, it would be you. I want you to know that you are strong and always have been, even when the world threatened to wreck you. You will get through this as well.”

I will remember these words in the coming weeks. I will draw upon them. I will need them.

I lean towards him in the light of our campfire and I place a soft kiss on his lips. I know full well the touch of my lips on his will turn to more, and most likely I'll end up on all fours, dripping with sweat, bracing myself on the leaf-covered ground as Erik pounds into me. As much as I love the surge of anticipation that always comes with touching Erik, I love this moment in itself: the comfort of his lips, of his words, the love that always pours out of him. Once we reach Darkholme we will need to be more guarded with our affection, so I am grateful for this moment, just the two of us and for the dark isolation of the forest.

We arrive at Darkholme three days later in the late afternoon, just as the sun is starting to dip towards the horizon. My heart clenches as I see my childhood home for the first time in more winters than I can count. Erik takes my horse as I dismount and run towards the house, bursting through the door to find the common room empty, the hearth cold. My chest clenches. I run upstairs, tears stinging my eyes as worry surges through me. Have I missed my father’s passing? Is his body cold, burned on a pyre to return his soul to the gods and I was not there? Oh gods, please let me be here on time. I push open the door to his bedroom and am filled with relief as I see my father lying on the bed, a nurse sitting by his bedside. He looks so old and frail, a mere shell of the man I left behind, but he is breathing. The woman looks at me and then she smiles.

“Ser Charles,” she says warmly, “they found you.”

I do not return her greeting as I rush to kneel beside the bed, taking my father’s hand in mine. It is so cold. He stirs a little at my touch, turns his head and opens his eyes.

“Charles,” Durwynn whispers, and his voice sounds frail but happy. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,”

“Father,” I sob, pressing a kiss to the back of his fragile hand that is marked with age spots. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“I have missed you,” Durwynn says with a small smile followed by a grimace. “Are you well?”

“I am, father. I am well. I have a home, a small farm.”

“And Erik?”

My breath hitches. My dear father, asking about Erik. I squeeze his hand and it feels so frail in my grip.

“He is well, father. We are well.”

“So he found you after all.” Durwyn says quietly, sounding pleased.

“Yes, he did.” I say, and a hear a small rustle from the doorway. I turn my head to see Erik standing there watching me, tears on his cheeks. He looks at me and nods, then turns and leaves me kneeling next to my father’s death bed.

“I love you, Charles,” Durwyn whispers, and he squeezes my hand weakly. I gaze at the face of my father, gaunt, wizened, but still my father.

“Father,” I gasp. “I...I….”

Words escape me. I am overwhelmed by the significance of this moment. I am about to lose my father.

“I know,” Durwyn says weakly, his voice strangely soothing, “I know…”

I am losing the man who took me in and loved me like I was his own. I slowly lay my head onto his frail chest, listening to his heartbeat. I stay there as long as I can, holding Durwynn’s hand, listening to the the way his breath rattles in the back of his throat, death always coming closer. This will be the last time I see my father.

After what seems like hours but might only be minutes for all I know, the nurse comes into the room and shoos me away and I find out that she is called Sarah. She grew up near Darkholme and she remembers me from one of our harvest parties.

“You were kind, Ser,” she says, bowing her head. I wince, wanting to tell her to call me Charles, but I know this is a different world. It is not my home in the north. Here I am Ser Charles.

“I am glad to see you again, Sarah,” I say, “thank you for taking care of my father.”

“He doesn’t have long in this world, Ser. King Cyneric will arrive tomorrow, along with Queen Raven. I hope he will hold out until then.”

My stomach clenches. Raven. The King.

“King Cyneric,” I say quietly, “Do they call him the Black King too?”

“Oh no, Ser,” Sarah says, “they call him Cyneric the Fair Sun. He is golden like the sun and fair in all ways. He is beloved in the realm.”

I smile. My son, Erik’s heir, has broken the legacy left by others in the Lehnsherr family. It is the first time I know with certainty that I made the right decision. My line may not live on but I have given my homeland the gift of my son to be their ruler, golden and fair.

We stay in my childhood bedroom that night and I can barely sleep, tossing and turning out of worry. Erik holds me tightly, whispers into my ear that it will be okay, that we will make it through what is to come next, just as we always have. We have each other. I do not know what it will be like to see Raven again, to look my sister in the eye. Will she still hate me or will there be love there? Will it be like when we were children, when there was nothing between us, or will I see the sister I left behind, hurt darkening her eyes? I do not know what to expect.

In the morning Erik waves away the kitchen servants and prepares breakfast, just as he does at home. Bread baked on the hearth. Thick, warm porridge with early berries gathered from the forest. Their flavor bursts in my mouth. I wonder if they have any dried apples. I have not had apples in so long, and although it will be many full moons before they are ripe, I long for their sweet, juicy crunch. I promise myself we will avail ourselves of some of Darkholme’s dried apples to take back home. After my father dies. I put my spoon down and Erik watches from where he sits opposite of me at the table, his eyes careful. I put my face in my hands and I weep.

The party from the south appears when the sun is high and bright in the sky. I have been watching for them, my heart in my throat, waiting. Then I see the banners coming over the rise and the King has arrived. I hang back, watching as the horses come walking slowly into the courtyard of Darkholme, and a page brings his horse to a halt, dismounts and announces that King Cyneric as arrived. I see him then, a fully armored knight riding on each side, but the King is without armor, wearing just riding gear and a cloak. A circlet is upon his head, and he does indeed has the red-gold hair people have told me of. He is not a big man, it appears he has my slender stature, but I can see that like me, he is strong. He dismounts from his horse, says something to one of his knights, then turns, but he does not walk towards the house where I stand waiting. Instead he walks towards the back of his travelling party, and for a moment I lose sight of him, then I see him returning, and next to him walks a woman. She carries herself with dignity and grace, and long-gone is the sister who slung a longbow on her back and put on the same tunic and leggings that the men wore.

_Raven._

She holds her head high and as she walks I see the people around her step aside, bowing their head in deference. The Queen, who for the longest time ruled the country in place of her son, does not acknowledge them as she moves through the crowd, past the page who is still standing next to his horse, walks towards the house until she comes to stop directly in front of me. As they approach I drop to my knees, and bow my head and stare at the ground. The young King stands by her side, his carriage strong, his head held proudly, but all I can see are his fine leather shoes. It reminds me of a lifetime ago when I kneeled before Erik and stared at his shoes as well.

“Dragonslayer,” the King says, and his voice still has a trace of the high pitch of youth.

“My King,” I say, my eyes still cast downward, partly out of custom and partly because I am truly afraid of what I will see when I look up. My chest clenches. My son. My only son is standing in front of me.

“Ser Charles,” Raven says. Her voice is cool, measured. I feel her hand come to lightly touch my shoulder, tenuous, trembling slightly, and I know that she is as nervous as I am for this reunion. I make myself look up, into the face of my sister, and she looks so different yet exactly the same, and all I can see is her face the day she stood in my chambers after we had...after…. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out that memory. She looks older now, lines around her mouth, grownup, but there is still something in her eyes, a vulnerability that makes me ache.

“Sister,” I say, keeping my voice even.

“Is he here?” she asks, quiet enough for only me to hear. I do not move my eyes from her face, afraid to look at the King, afraid of what I will see. I open my mouth to answer when Raven shakes her head, smirks a little and laughs wryly. “Why do I even ask? Of course he is here. I imagine you wouldn’t go anywhere without him.”

I am taken aback at her bitter tone after all these years. Had I actually dared to think we both had moved on? Am I a fool? I answer her with honestly because it is all I have left.

“I wouldn’t come without him, Raven.” Although I try to keep my words neutral, I cannot completely mask my chagrin that the first thing my sister asks me after not seeing me for more than fifteen years is if Erik is by my side. Time has not healed her wounds.

Her mouth pinches in anger and I feel irritation well up even further. Dear sister, did you think you could have me to yourself one more time? Is that what this is about? Our father is dying and all you care about is whether or not you get me for yourself? For the first time I start to feel fear creeping in. This is not what I had expected.

The boy-King has hung back this whole time, and now he steps forward and clears his throat. I feel my own throat constrict and finally I turn my head to look at the Erik’s heir. My son. Oh gods, I am afraid of what I will see in his face.

He may have my build but other than that, he is the spitting image of Raven with ginger-gold hair and as I stare at him I realize that Erik is right. As much as he resembles Raven, I am looking at my own eyes and it is unnerving.

“So this is my long-lost uncle,” Cyneric says, looking me up and down, his mouth curled slightly with disdain. I look at Raven again.

“I see you’ve been telling him your version of our tale, dearest sister.”

“I have told him the truth,” Raven sneers, “That you left. You could have stayed with us and you didn’t. That we could have all been a happy family.”

I sigh. Dearest sister, it seems time has not healed this wound between us.

“I would never have been happy if I remained in Lehnshire, stayed at the castle,” I say. “I am happy now.”

Raven flinches. it is almost imperceptible, but I see it. I know my words have hurt, but they are meant to. If Raven has never forgiven me for leaving her, I have never forgiven her for scheming to bind me to her against my will. I resent her for her naivety, for thinking that somehow she could keep me when I loved another, for thinking that my love for her was anything close to the consuming, all encompassing love I hold for Erik.

“Is he hiding somewhere?” Raven blurts out, eyes glancing around, and I know who she is looking for. “Afraid to see me, to face the people, the realm he left behind?”

“We thought it best he not be here. He would be a distraction.”

“Who is he? Who do you and my uncle talk about?” Cyneric interrupts, sounding alarmed. The fear that is been lurking on the edges moves front and center. The King does not know that Erik is here. Oh dear gods, he does not know.

“The Black King.” Raven says, turning to her son. Our son. I do not know if my mind will ever be able to reconcile what has been done here.

“The traitor?” Cyneric spits out, “My father?”

I swallow. The King’s gaze settles on me, his eyes narrowed and accusing.

“Dragonslayer, you brought him here?”

“I see you’ve been weaving tales, sister.” I say quietly, turning back to Raven, daring to ignore the King’s demand for now. "He gave up everything for me. Can you not see that? Can you not see he has paid? We have all paid, Raven. Isn’t it time to lay some of this to rest?”

“This will never rest, Charles.” Raven says quietly. “I hoped you would be smarter and stay away. I only agreed to send for you out of love for Durwyn, because he was asking for you, but you should have stayed away.”

“He is my father,” I say quietly, and I wonder at the fact that my sister’s anger runs so deep that she would consider denying me seeing my father - OUR father - before he dies. Her response tells me the answer.

“MY father, Charles, not yours. You are just someone he took in, his ward. You are not his blood. You are not his son.”

I could not feel cut so deeply if my sister had pierced my heart with one of the arrows from her longbow.

“Where is he?” Cyneric demands forcefully and both Raven and I startle from the stalemate we have reached and turn towards him. He is standing with his feet spread apart, as if he is ready for a fight, his sea-blue eyes sparking with anger. “Where is the traitor. Where is my father?” and the word father is spit out with such disdain that I see how much this boy has been hurt by all of our decisions.

“He is inside,” I say, looking at the King.

“Bring him to me,” Cyneric says and I see members of the King’s guard surge forward.

“No!” I cry out, “I’ll get him. Let me bring him out.”

“Fine, Dragonslayer,” Cyneric says with a dismissive wave of his gloved hand. This much he’ll give me.

I go back into the house and Erik is sitting by the hearth, looking at me with worried eyes and I am sure he has heard the entire exchange. I know no matter what it is, what happens next will not be good. I take his hand in mine.

“Charles,” Erik says, his voice cracking a little.

“He wants to see you,” I say.

“I heard. He called me a traitor.”

Tears spring to my eyes. I know this will not end well. I want to run, to mount our horses and ride back north where I know we will be safe, but that would be cowardly and neither of us are cowards.

"I love you Erik," I say, "whatever happens, know that I am forever on your side. Until the moment I die. Until my last breath on this earth. I will not forsake you. I am forever your loyal first knight and you are my only King."

I lean forward and place a kiss on his lips. I do not know it then but it will be the last kiss we share in a very long time. My lips leave his and I step back, holding out my hand. Erik takes it and I pull him to a stand. Then we both turn and walk back to the courtyard, and I only release his hand when we reach the threshold. What lies beyond it is unknown. I close my eyes and step into the courtyard, Erik walking behind me.

I return to once again stand in front of the King, Erik next to me. Cyneric looks at me again and then his gaze falls on Erik.

"Erik Lehnsherr," the boy-King says loudly so all the people in the courtyard can hear, "traitor of your land. Black King who abdicated the throne and abandoned your people. How dare you show your face here?”

Erik says nothing. He stands proud and definitely silent, staring at the King with an unwavering gaze. I glance over at him and I want to turn and beg him to show deference. I cannot move. It will make things worse for both of us, and I cannot help Erik if we are both thrown in the castle dungeon.

“You are under arrest for treason. The penalty is death,” the boy-King spits out. I wince. Erik’s face remains stony.

A murmur rises through the crowd and I feel my knees start to buckle as I stare forward, careful not to show any emotion, trying to stay standing. My eyes flicker from the the King’s face to Raven who standing next to him. Her face is stone but on her lips I see a small flicker of a smirk, as if she has won. After all this time she is still playing a game. I feel a fury start to burn in my breast that is greater than anything I have felt before. May you burn in hell, dear sister.

It will be two more long days before Durwyn dies. They put Erik in the stable, guarded at all times. I refuse to leave, sleeping slumped against the fence of one of the animal pens, my cloak pulled tightly around me. I will not leave him, not even to see my father, but I know that Durwyn would understand. One of the King’s guards come from the house, tells me the Queen said to tell me there is good food and drink if I want it, and a bed all made up. Although my bones ache from the dampness, I shake my head ‘no’. I am used to the ground, I tell the man standing in front of me looking incredulous. I will stay here. In the middle of the day on the second day there is a great wail from the house and I know that my father has finally left this earth. I feel a tear roll down my cheek and I reach up to wipe it away, leaving a smudge of dirt in the wake of my fingers. I still do not move. I have said my goodbyes to my father. I will not leave Erik.

A few hours later my sister finds me. She stands before me, her face stained with tears but her eyes still cold. She has a skein of mead in her hand that she tosses at me.

“Drink up brother. You need the strength. We ride for the castle in the morning.”

The trip to the castle is long. Erik is hooded and tied up, and every once in a while I watch as some random knight smacks him on the arm or the back of the head. The traitorous black King is everybody’s whipping boy. I see him flinch with every hit, but he never makes a noise. My brave and strong Erik. The ropes around his wrists have rubbed his skin raw and there are dark blood stains on them. I ride as close to him as I can, not wanting him out of my sight, hoping for a moment when I can tend to his wounds or give him a sip of mead from my skein.

“Ride with us, brother,” Raven says one day, bringing her horse up along side mine. I tremble with rage and I want to take my sword and run her through, my own sister, the first person to ever hold my heart. All I want now is see her heart bleed. I cannot. Any wrong move will put Erik in more danger.

“I am no longer part of the royal family,” I say through clenched teeth, “My place is here.” Here with Erik. I do not say it but we both know it is what I mean. I will not ride by Raven’s side.

The traveling party finally reaches the castle. This is the first time since the day Raven and Cyneric arrived at Darkholme that Erik and I are separated. I want to cry out, to throw myself at Erik and beg them to take me with him, but I manage to hold back as I am escorted into the castle and away from my lover. I must be strong if I want to help him. I recognize the door I am led to. it is the same one Erik had brought me to so many years ago, the first night we took pleasure in each other: my old chambers. I feel a sharp sting of pain and wonder when my sister became so cruel. She knows this will hurt me beyond measure. When I am finally left alone I curl up on the same bed where Erik first kissed me and touched me. My beginning has become my end.

Days pass, then a week. I cannot sleep, cannot eat. I wander the castle, haunted by memories. Erik kissing me. The way he would sometimes glance up in the middle of talking about crop yields or new swords for the knights and look at me with soft, warm eyes. I did not know it then but it was love I saw in those eyes. The same love I have seen every day since Erik returned to me. The love that I long to see now.

Every day I do the same thing. First I seek audience with the Queen. She is the only person who can change the King's mind. She is my sister. Surely there is something of that bond left. Surely she will see she is hurting me beyond measure. I wait outside her chambers, her lady-in-waiting looking at me with pity. The Dragonslayer, come to beg. Every day I am turned away.

After being turned away by my sister I take the stairs down to the bowels of the castle, down into the cold and dark hallways where blood stains the walls for an eternity and ghosts howl out endless. They will not let me see him. Then one day one of the guards look familiar. He is an older man, a bit grizzled, but I recognize him from my garrison long ago. His name is Eadgar. I draw myself up tall and request to see Erik. I look this man in the eye. I tell him that I remember him. He looks at me with suspicious eyes.

“Dragonslayer,” he says. I flood with relief. Here is the luck I need.

“Yes,” I say, heaving a sigh, “I am. Please. If you feel any honor towards me, please. Let me see the prisoner. Let me see the treasonous King.”

“You were his first knight.” Eadgar says, looking me up and down. I must be a sight. I am no longer a knight. I have the build of a common farmer, my skin brown from the sun. I was still such a youth when I became the Dragonslayer, soft and well-fed. I am hard now.

“I am still loyal to him,” I say, trying to appeal to his sense of order, his own vow. Surely he will see that he should honor my own vow.

The man nods, looks around, and lets me pass. My heart is in my throat as I hurry down the dark corridor only lit by torches. In the shadows I hear the sound of rodents scurrying. Oh Erik, I cannot imagine how I will find you. I finally reach the cell where they are holding him, fall to my knees and grasp the cold iron bars.

“Erik!” I whisper. He is sitting propped against one wall, a shackle around one wrist. At the sound of my voice he raises his head and I can see that his face his streaked with dirt and his beard is ginger streaked with gray, and my heart almost stops at the look in his eyes. He looks like he is seeing a ghost.

“Charles?” he whispers, “Is it really you, or am I dreaming again?”

“It is me, my love,” I say, reaching through the bars as far as I can. “I am here. I am sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Erik reaches out a shaking hand and our fingers touch. My other hand grips one of the bars as if I am going to be swept away and my heart is pounding so hard I think it is going to stop working.

After that whenever Eadgar is on duty, I see Erik. I bring water, bread. I read to him by the light of a bit of tallow candle I carry with me in my pocket. We trade tales, stories of our life together, precious memories. I whisper to him how much I miss him, miss his touch, miss our bed, miss our life. It is not much, but it is so much more than I had before I made friends with Eadgar, and for that, I am grateful.

Word comes that the traitor will be executed in a fortnight. I hear it whispered in the hallways of the castle and I go cold. I run to the throne room where I know I will find Raven and Cyneric. It is the first time I have been in that room since I have returned to the keep. The whole place echoes with memories. I feel the same trepidation I felt all those years ago when I stood in front of Erik covered in dragon’s blood.

“Who seeks counsel next?” Cyneric asks his page and the page tells him. Ser Charles Xavier. He looks thoughtful then calls me forwards.

“Ah, uncle. What brings you here? I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

I gaze into my own eyes. My son’s eyes.

“Your Majesty,” I say, my eyes glancing away in deference, “I hear that the traitorous King is to be executed in a fortnight. Is this true?”

Cyneric’s eyes narrow as he looks at me. He glances over at Raven who sits next to him, her face expressionless. He turns back to me.

“Yes, Dragonslayer. The time has come for him to pay.”

Pay. I feel a surge of pity for the boy who sits before me. He has been betrayed by the man who he thinks is his father. This is not just about the Kingdom of Lehnshire, it is about a boy who was left behind. My heart hurts for my son.

“My dear King,” I say as calmly as I can muster. I choose my words carefully. “Is there no room for forgiveness? A month in the dungeons is a terrible thing to endure.” My gaze shift to Raven. Her eyes narrow.

“You ask me not to take this man’s head?” Cyneric says, leaning forward, his voice deadly.

“I ask for compassion,” I say, still looking at Raven. “Sister, surely your have instilled compassion in your son?"

Our son, I think to myself.

"The King is deeply compassionate," Raven says evenly, her eyes chilly. "But there is no compassion for those who betray their country, who shirk their duty and leave everyone behind."

I have nothing else to say. She will let Erik die to spite me. I bow deeply to show my respect to the court and walk calmly out of the throne room. I hold back the tears that prick my eyes until I return to my quarters, the rooms that are still thick with memories of Erik, and once I am there I grab whatever is freestanding near me and throw it. I scream his name, sink to my knees, and I beg that something, someone will save his life. I am not ready for this, not ready for him to leave this earth. I have survived so much but this, I will not endure. I am so alone, my only ally a grizzled old guard who takes pity on me so I can see my lover, and he does not even know who Erik is to me. No one knows and once he dies, no one will ever know. Raven has effectively wiped out the love that Erik and I share. We are entirely destroyed and it is by the hand of my own sister.

The days tick by. I spend as much time with Erik as I can and I can see admiration for my devotion in the eyes of Eadgar, who feels like my last friend on earth. I wait outside Raven's chambers every day only to be sent away. I wish Durwyn were still alive. He might be the only one who could plead my case to my sister, but his body has been burned on a pyre and his soul is in the hands of the gods now. There is no one to help me.

The execution day is almost nigh I feel ill as the preparations get underway. There are only two days left and the King is going to ride in the hunt for wild boar, maybe to wet his taste for blood. Erik’s blood. I gaze down into the courtyard where he stands beside his horse dressed in hunting garb, dogs nipping and baying about. Anger courses through me that a man is about to die and the King is going out for sport. His horse shies nervously and he pats her reassuringly. Then I see Raven walk towards him and she is wearing the same long, flowing cloak that Erik gave her on their wedding day. She has a longbow across her back, and that is when an idea comes to me. A last attempt to change the fate of my lover. I throw on my clothes, wrap my cloak around me and head quickly to the stables. I must try one last time to talk to my sister.

Raven will not go with the hunting party. One does not hunt angry wild boars with a longbow. That is a job for spears, thrown with force and deadly accuracy. I know her. She will look for hares. Maybe a spry buck she can pierce with one of her sharp arrows. She will take another path, the one through the woods, down the ravine, skirting the creek. The one we took on that day so long ago when she stroked my hair and told me she would become Queen, and that it was all for me. I will find her in the woods, the woods that we share a love of. There I will take a last chance to talk to her, to beg for Erik’s life, and for my own.

I know a shortcut. I ride my horse fast, up and down the valleys, racing to be at the creek bank before Raven. I feel my animal is damp with exertion, breathing hard, but still, I push her. This is my last chance and I must find Raven. Finally, I reach the creek, my horse panting and whinnying, and I stay mounted, my ears in tune with the sounds around me. I hear the water rushing, the birds singing, the croak of a bullfrog now and then. A dragonfly flits about my head. If my heart were not so heavy, this would be one of those glorious days to be in the forest, the kind that fills my soul. Finally I hear the distant sound of horses crashing through the underbrush and shortly after I see the first rider in my sister’s party.

“Whoa!” the woman cries, pulling on her reins, making her horse come to a stop. “Queen Raven!” she cries. “An intruder!”

“I am her brother, Ser Charles Xavier,” I tell the woman who is looking at me suspiciously. I hear a horse surging through the forest, crashing through the thick undergrowth, and a moment later Raven rides up, her hair flying behind her, the crossbow still on her back.

“Ser Charles!” she says, and she sounds surprised. I look at her, my eyes cold, my face like stone. I am determined to sit here on my horse, and I will not yield until she hears what I have to say.

“My Queen,” I say, keeping my voice even, and it doesn’t even quaver and betray that rapid beating of my heart, the dampness of my palms, “I beg you, as your brother, give me an audience. Please, hear what I have to say.”

Her mouth grows tight as she looks at me.

“You have already said your peace to the King, brother,” Raven says coolly in a measured tone meant for everyone to hear. “I will not say anything differently than the King has said.”

I feel my heart drop. Still, I will not be thwarted. I must take this one last chance.

“Sister,” I say.

She looks at me with those same chilly eyes that are so far from the eyes of my beloved sister, and I wonder how I can break through the wall of ice she has set up around herself. How can I find the sister who loved me more than anyone else in the world?

“Ser Charles,” she says quietly, “again, my word will be no different than his. Let us pass.”

I want to jump off my horse, prostrate myself, beg, but I do not. Instead, I decide to tell her a story. A sweet memory. It is the only thing I have left.

“Do you remember the last time we were in these woods together?” I ask, ignoring her demand. “I do. You shot four hares for our dinner. You were always good with the longbow. Better than any man I knew. My sister, so wild and untamed. The greatest beauty this Kingdom has ever known.”

Raven says nothing. She just watches me carefully. I feel emboldened so I take a deep breath and it betrays how nervous I am. I keep talking, drawing up memories from further back.

“And what of our adventures at Darkholme?” I ask. “I do not think I could have had a better playmate, even if I had had a brother. Exploring the glades, climbing trees. Do you remember stealing some of the hard cider and drinking it behind the stable?”

I see a shadow of a smile on her lips now. She remembers. Oh gods, she remembers. Please, I think to myself, please let this work.

“And, sister dear, do you remember the night I came to live with you? I was still soaking wet from the river and my family was dead, and you crawled under the coverlet and put your arms around me. They were so skinny; you were so little, but so strong and I felt so safe. I have always felt so safe with you.”

“Charles,” Raven rasps, using my given name, her voice raw with emotion. For the first time since arriving at the castle I start to feel a flicker hope.

“What has happened to us, dear sister, that now we stand on opposite sides? That you won’t even grant me an audience? That you will take what is most dear to me? I know you love me still. I do not know why if you cannot have me, no one can. I dont know why you destroy my happiness.”

The chill in her eyes starts to slip away and I see they are shining with tears. I want to run to her, to take her in my arms. I want to tell her that I hate what sits between us, that I want her back. I miss my sister. Instead I sit on my horse, watching her, watching for any sign that she has heard what I say.

“If he dies, I die.” I say quietly. “I will not live in this world without him.”

Raven’s shoulders slump almost imperceptibly and it changes her entire carriage. For the first time in a long time I do not see the Queen or the woman who loves me above all others but my sister. My beloved younger sister who I would have done anything for, and I know that no matter what, I will always love that version of Raven. She will always be in my heart.

“You can stop this.” I say quietly. “You are the only person he’ll listen to. You can do this. For me. Think about it, sister. Is this really what you want?”

And with that, I am done. I will not beg, will not plead, will not bargain for Erik’s life. I have asked her to draw on the love we have always had for each other, and if that will not work, nothing will. Erik will die. I turn and ride away, leaving Raven staring after me.

The day of the execution I ask for a bath. I sit in the tub, letting the water warm my weary muscles, the heat sinking into my bones. I cry silently, tasting salt on my lips. I get out, dry myself and dress, pulling on my hose and tunic. I throw on my mantle, the Darkholme blue and fasten it with a brooch that belonged to Durwyn, one of the few things of his I was able to keep. You are with me today, father, I think to myself. You will help me be strong.

I walk down the long spiral staircase into the dungeons and Eadgar is on duty. He bows his head to me and moves to let me pass. I see pity in his eyes, along with respect that the First Knight remains loyal to his King. I arrive at Erik's cell and he is sleeping. He is so thin. His collarbones jut out, I can count his ribs. I can see his thin chest rise and fall with his breathing. His tunic is soiled and hangs off him. My heart skips a beat.

"My love," I whisper. He jerks awake, eyes glancing around and when they fall on me, he gives me a smile. His face is so thin that the smile engulfs it.

"I was dreaming of you," Erik says, looking at me with so much love it hurts. I want to shout, to rail at the gods who dare take this man from me. It is unfair that we will not continue to grow old together. I wish I could be happy that we have gotten more than we ever expected but all I can do is feel a keen sense of loss for what is being taken from us.

I take my skein and open it, pushing it through the bars.

"Drink, my love."

“Thank you,” Erik whispers, his voice cracking as he reaches for the pouch. He puts it to his lips and I watch as he swallows, then he wipes his lips and hands it back to me.

“Is today the day?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes tight, trying to shut out the truth for just a little longer. “Today is the day.”

Erik is silent. We sit there, bars separating us, hands clasped through them, and I try to memorize how it feels to touch Erik since this will be the last time. I want to curl up on the cold stone floor and sob, to give into the grief that nips at my edges, but I cannot. I must be strong for him.

“We’ve come a long way,” Erik says after a long time, huffing out a small, dry laugh. “Who knew it would all end here. In the dungeon of my own castle.”

“I never want it to end,” I manage to choke out, my voice betraying my distress. I tell myself to stay strong. Do this for him. Be strong until the very end.

“It seems we do not have that choice,” Erik says wryly. He looks at me and the look on his face takes my breath away. It is love and devotion and passion and everything rolled up into one.

“I guess not,” I whisper, “I have tried my love. I have tried everything to save you…”

“Shhhhhhhh...Charles,” Erik whispers, “I know you. I know you would lay down your life for me. If this is it, if this is all we have, I need to say this to you. You are more beautiful than the day I met you. Standing before me in the throne room, in your armor, looking at me with those eyes. You were a vision and if I could have knelt before you at that moment and pledged my life to you, I would have.”

It is my turn to laugh a little, imagining any king throwing himself before a knight. I cannot even dream of the scandal it would cause in the court. My Erik, swearing an oath to me, a mere servant.

“You’ve pledged yourself in different ways,” I murmur, remembering our first night together, followed by so many more nights. “You gave up your kingdom for me. If you hadn’t done that, you...you wouldn’t be….”

I cannot bring myself to put the price Erik is about to pay into words. He gave up his kingdom for me and he will now give up his life. I do not want this sacrifice. I am deeply selfish. I just want him, alive, breathing, warm in my arms.

“Living with you in Cwmsol, our life together”, Erik continues, “...I have never known such happiness. The day you returned from the mountains and into my arms, that you told me that you would stay with me, that you would give up your son…”

So much pain. I can barely stand it, and I want to beg him to stop, but I do not. I know he needs to say this, and who am I to stop him on the day he dies.

Erik is crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I long for the mountains, Charles, to ride away from this place back to our home, to sleep again side by side, to know the pleasure of your body next to mine, to bury myself so deep in you that I am lost for that moment...I...I just….”

I squeeze his hand harder.

“I miss our home too. The wheat would be almost ready for harvest,” I say, remembering our life together. “And I wonder if our sow has had her piglets yet. I’m glad we decided to breed her.”

I delve into the mundane and it is so absurd that I am rewarded with a genuine laugh from Erik. He looks at me with soft, warm eyes.

“I wish I had been able to finish the repair on the stable roof,” he muses, “I didn’t expect to be gone so long.”

“And Eadlin. I miss her ale and stew. I wonder if her daughter has birthed her second child yet?”

“And if it was a boy, did she name it after me like she was threatening to?” Erik laughs.

“Oh Erik,” I sigh, thinking about all we left behind. Our home. Our friends. Our life.

“Tell them of me,” he says, and I do not have the heart to tell him that I will not return to Cwmsol. I will be following him into whatever lies beyond death.

My muscles hurt from crouching next to his cell but I do not move. I will take pain for this man. I will take everything. There is a noise down the corridor and the sound of people walking towards us and I close my eyes tightly, then open them and look at Erik. He is looking at me and I see peace in his eyes. Acceptance. I do not accept this. I do not! But what I see in him calms me. I take a deep, shaking breath.

“I could not have asked for a better life,” Erik says softly, “It is enough, Charles. It is more than enough. If this is what I get, I am happy beyond words to take it.”

“Erik,” I say, almost sobbing. I cannot look at whoever is approaching. I cannot raise my eyes to see the people who will take the man I love away to the executioner, take him to die because he loved me above all other things in this world. I can hear the clank of chainmail as they stop, and I keep my face to Erik. I hear someone clear their throat. Then I hear my name.

“Charles.”

I jerk in surprise. it is not the gruff voice of a guard. It is sweet and dulcet, and full of pain, and I turn my head to look into the eyes of my sister.

Raven.

It is not the Queen I stare at and not the woman who married the man I love to keep me. It is indeed my sister, and she is looking at me as I crouch on the floor. She stands only with Eadgar, not a whole party of guards as I would expect they would bring to take Erik to the executioner, and in her hand she is holding a ring of iron keys.

“I love you, brother,” Raven says, her voice hoarse as if she has been crying. She stares down at me, her eyes glancing at mine and Erik’s clasped hands. “You may go.”

“Me?” I gasp, not understanding what she is saying. Is she going to have a moment with Erik before they take him to the courtyard, before they lay his head on the wood block and sever his head from his body? I cannot leave him, not now. I cannot lose these precious moments. I am about to protest but Raven puts up a hand to stop me.

“Both of you,” Raven says, and I cannot breathe. Both of us. Oh gods, both of us. She is letting Erik go. More importantly, she is letting me go.

“Raven,” I managed to gasp.

“I have two horses outside with provisions, enough to get you back to the north. There are some warm cloaks too.”

“Why?” I ask, staring at her, flabbergasted, my head spinning.

“Because, brother, you are right.” Raven says softly, almost warmly, “I cannot keep you. I love you and I will never stop, but you are not mine. You belong to him, and I have known that from the very beginning. I have been such a fool.”

“You have Cyneric.” I say, watching her, and my heart hurts for my sister who looks utterly destroyed.

“Yes,” she says, her voice quiet, “he is my son and my heart, but I have denied him his father because I loved you so much. I have done that myself. You and I have lost so much, brother dearest, but Cyneric is the one who has lost the most, and that is my fault. I wanted too much, I took too much, and I can see that now. Erik should not die because of my greed. I do not want that. I do not want to see you entirely broken, because I know if he dies, so do you.”

“So, after all this time, you are letting me go?”

Raven nods, biting at her lip, her eyes are bright with tears and her cheeks are wet. I know she is keeping herself together as much as I am. My hands tremble but Erik still holds onto them, silent this whole time, giving this to me and Raven.

“You will always be my brother. The one I grew up with, the one I had great adventures with, the one who would crawl into my bed and hold me when I was afraid of the thunder, the one who would bring me bouquets of wild flowers and tell me the name of every single one. That is who I will hold in my heart. I am letting you go, Charles. Just as you asked.”

I cannot believe it. The two people I love the most have let me go when I asked. The first was Erik. Now Raven. I gulp for air.

“And Cyneric?” I ask. The King wants to kill Erik. Surely he will not take lightly to his own mother thwarting him. Raven smiles at me and it is surprisingly warm.

“I will deal with our son,” she says softly, and it is the only acknowledgement we will ever share of who Cyneric is to the both of us, “He is so like you sometimes, Charles. So much that it hurts.”

“I am sorry not to know him,” I say honestly.

“I am sorry too,” Raven says, “but he is rightfully hurt and will not keep Erik alive, and I will not let him be executed, so you will not be able to stay and get to know him. Just know that despite all he has done to you, he is good. He is deeply good, and he has always been destined to be exactly who he has become. For that I must thank you.”

Raven steps forward and I release Erik’s hand and come to a stand, my joints aching from crouching in the damp and cold for hours. I feel joy burgeoning in my breast, a great golden glow that starts small and slowly grows, bright like the sun. I go to Raven, take her in my arms, and I bury my face in her hair, sobbing because we are saying goodbye forever. My sister has finally come back to me and I must leave.

“Just go,” she whispers, shuddering a little. “I do not want to change my mind, and I cannot be reminded of everything I have lost.”

“Take care, dear sister,” I say. “You have a place in my heart. Forever.”

I gaze at her tear-streaked face then I lean forward and place a kiss on her cheek, tasting salt, and at the touch of my lips, Raven finally breaks down, sobbing. I hold my sister in my arms, letting her sob out her grief, and this is the last memory I will have her, a memory I will carry to my death.

Erik and I ride away from the castle. There is no time for embracing, for discussing his stay of execution, for anything but haste. We must ride fast and we must ride now. I help him mount his horse and ask him if he can sit in the saddle long enough for us to put at least a day between us and the King, who has been denied his execution. He looks at me with those ice blue eyes that hold so much love and pain and everything in between and nods.

“Yes,” he whispers, and it is the first thing he has said since Raven unlocked the dungeon and let us walk free. My heart hurts and I want to jump off my horse, to grab him and pull him into my arms, hold him and never let him go. I cannot. Not when there is any chance we could be stopped and Erik dragged back to the executioner who is most likely sharpening his axe as we ride away. He is so gaunt, but he is alive and he is mine. I bring my horse next to his, take my reins in one hand and with the other I reach out and his hand comes up reflexively to grab mine. He smiles.

“My King,” I say, and I know that Erik knows what I mean by that. He is my King forever, and only mine. I wipe away a tear, release his hand and gripping the reins tightly I spur my horse to a gallop. Erik follows behind me and together we ride north.

We are going home.

**~fin~**


End file.
